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THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES.  By  HAWTHORNE. 

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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES 

BY    NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE 

WITH   AN    INTRODUCTION 

BY  GEORGE  PARSONS 

LATHROP 


SALEM  EDITION 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(jibe  ttitocwiDr  press,  Cambridge 

1893 


Copyright,  1851, 
BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

Copyright,  1879, 
BY  KOSE  HAWTHORNE  LATHROP. 

Copyright,  1882, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


THE  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

ON  his  return  to  his  native  town,  Salem,  after  grad- 
uating at  Bowdoin  College  in  1825,  Hawthorne  devoted 
himself  to  writing  fiction.  His  first  book  was  the 
romance  of  "  Fanshawe,"  which,  however,  made  no  iu.- 
pression  on  the  public.  He  next  produced  a  volume 
of  stories  to  which  he  gave  the  title  "  Seven  Tales  of 
my  Native  Land  ; "  but,  after  discouraging  search  for 
a  publisher,  he  destroyed  the  manuscript.  Whether 
any  of  the  material  composing  that  work  was  embodied 
in  his  later  short  stories  it  is  impossible  to  determine, 
on  the  evidence  now  remaining.  Still,  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  he  drew  upon  it,  from  memory,  for  the 
foundation  of  some  among  the  "Twice-Told  Tales." 
The  sketches  and  stories  now  known  collectively  under 
this  title  were  written  mainly  in  a  little  room  in  the 
second  story  of  a  house  on  Herbert  Street,  Salem,  from 
the  windows  of  which  Hawthorne's  birthplace  on  the 
adjoining  street  (Union)  is  visible.  "  In  this  dismal 
chamber  fame  was  won  : "  so  runs  a  passage  in  the 
"  American  Note-Books."  Under  another  date  he  says 
of  it :  "  And  here  I  sat  a  long,  long  time,  waiting  pa- 
tiently for  the  world  to  know  me,  and  sometimes  won- 
dering why  it  did  not  know  me  sooner,  or  whether  it 
would  ever  know  me^  at  all." 


2033278    I 


IV  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

The  Herbert  Street  house  was  habitually  referred  to 
by  the  members  of  the  Hawthorne  family  as  being  on 
Union  Street,  since  the  family  residence  and  the  birth- 
place were  connected  by  the  lots  of  land  attached  re- 
spectively to  each.  The  mansion  on  Union  Street  has 
since  undergone  considerable  alteration,  a  large  part  of 
it  having  been  taken  down  some  years  ago,  owing  to  its 
dilapidated  condition.  On  Dearborn  Street  there  was 
another  house,  built  for  the  mother  of  Hawthorne  by 
her  brother,  Robert  Manning,  in  which  Hawthorne 
lived  for  about  four  years,  though  at  what  time  pre- 
cisely it  is  impossible  to  state.  In  the  Dearborn  Street 
house,  also,  he  had  a  study  ;  but  the  edifice  has  been 
removed  to  another  site  and  altered.  The  Herbert 
Street  (or,  as  in  the  Note-Books,  Union  Street)  house 
was  evidently  the  one  which  Hawthorne  most  closely 
associated  with  the  production  of  his  short  stories. 

The  earlier  pieces  appeared  in  the  "  Salem  Gazette  " 
newspaper,  and  in  the  "  New  England  Magazine " 
(published  in  Boston  from  1831  to  1834).  Sometimes 
they  bore  the  author's  real  name,  and  sometimes  a 
pseudonym  was  attached.  Several  among  them  pur- 
ported to  have  been  written  by  "  Ashley  Allen  Royce," 
or  the  "  Rev.  A.  A.  Royce."  Another  pen-name  used 
by  the  young  romancer  was  "  Oberon  ;  "  the  choice  of 
which  may  be  explained  by  the  fact  that,  as  the  late 
Henry  W.  Longfellow  recalled,  some  of  the  college 
friends  of  Hawthorne  had  nicknamed  him  Oberon,  in 
allusion  to  his  personal  beauty  and  the  imaginative 
tone  of  his  conversation.  But  notwithstanding  the  va- 
riety of  names  under  which  he  thus  disguised  himself, 
his  writings  revealed  so  clear  an  individuality  that 
many  persons  recognized  them  as  being  the  work  of 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  V 

one  mind.  In  1836,  he  went  to  Boston  to  edit  a  maga- 
zine for  S.  G.  Goodrich,  then  known  as  a  popular  com- 
piler and  publisher  ;  and  while  thus  engaged  he  wrote 
a  large  part  of  "Peter  Parley's  Universal  History," 
which  passed  for  Goodrich's  composition  and  attained 
a  wide  popularity.  At  the  same  time  he  contributed 
to  the  Boston  "  Token  "  several  of  the  best  of  his  short 
stories,  which  received  high  praise  in  London.  It  was 
not  until  their  issue  in  book  form  that  they  attracted 
similar  encomiums  in  this  country. 

Hawthorne's  original  plan  was  to  collect  them  in  a 
series  joined  by  an  introduction  and  chapters  of  con- 
nected narrative ;  the  whole  to  be  called  "  The  Story- 
Teller."  A  part  of  this  projected  framework  has  been 
preserved  in  the  "  Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse  ;  " l  and 
the  Author  there  says  :  — 

With  each  specimen  will  be  given  a  sketch  of  the  circum- 
stances in  which  the  story  was  told.  Thus  my  air-drawn 
pictures  will  be  set  in  a  framework  perhaps  more  valuable 
than  the  pictures  themselves,  since  they  will  be  embossed 
with  groups  of  characteristic  figures,  amid  the  lake  and 
mountain  scenery,  the  villages  and  fertile  fields,  of  our  na- 
tive land. 

The  plan  of  "The  Story-Teller  "  was,  to  represent  a 
young  man  of  apostolical  bent  who  set  out  to  go  from 
town  to  town,  giving  a  sermon  every  morning,  while  a 
friend  who  accompanied  him  was  to  relate  in  public, 
every  afternoon,  a  story  illustrating  the  text  previously 
discoursed  upon  by  the  preacher;  the  whole  affair  be- 

1  See  "  Passages  from  a  Relinquished  Work,"  in  the  sec- 
ond volume  of  the  Mosses.  It  was  intended  to  preface  "  Mr. 
Higginbotham's  Catastrophe." 


VI  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

ing  announced  in  each  place  by  posters,  much  in  the 
manner  of  a  travelling  show.  It  might  be  supposed  that 
the  introduction  of  sermons  in  a  book  of  fiction  would 
offer  a  stumbling-block  to  success;  but  Hawthorne 
evaded  this  obvious  difficulty  by  merely  mentioning  the 
sermons  and  then  giving  the  stories  in  full.  Mr.  Good- 
rich gave  the  scheme  no  encouragement,  but  took  the 
introductory  portion  describing  the  preacher  and  the 
raconteur  to  a  magazine.  It  is  worth  recording  as  a 
curious  fact  in  literary  history  that  for  the  accompany- 
ing stories  which  Goodrich  used"in  his  annual  he  gave 
Hawthorne  about  three  dollars  apiece. 

Finally,  through  the  intervention  of  Mr.  Horatio 
Bridge,  who  privately  became  responsible  to  this  more 
than  prudent  publisher  for  the  attendant  expense,  the 
first  series  of  stories  was  given  to  the  world  in  per- 
manent form,  as  a  handful  of  disconnected  composi- 
tions, under  the  general  heading  of  "  Twice-Told 
Tales."  Possibly  the  title  was  suggested  by  that  line, 
given  to  Lewis,  the  Dauphin,  in  "  King  John  :  "  — 

' '  Life  is  as  tedious  as  a  twice-told  tale." 

About  eight  years  after  the  first  volume,  a  second 
one  was  issued;  but  even  this  did  not  include  all  the 
productions  of  the  early  period,  some  of  which  have 
since  been  brought  to  light.  A  few  have  perhaps  es- 
caped notice.  The  present  writer  discovered  in  a  mu^ 
tilated  copy  of  the  "Token,"  for  1835,  this  entry 
among  the  contents:  "Alice  Doane's  Appeal.  By  the 
Author  of  '  The  Gentle  Boy.'  "  Only  two  pages  of  the 
story  itself  remained;  but  they  sufficed  to  show  that 
the  contribution  was  one  which  had  previously  found  no 
place  in  the  collected  works.  A  complete  copy  having 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  Vll 

with  some  difficulty  been  obtained,  the  sketch  in  ques- 
tion was  included  in  the  12th  volume  of  the  Riverside 
edition  of  Hawthorne's  works. 

"  The  Gentle  Boy  "  probably  did  more  for  the  au- 
thor's reputation  than  any  other  of  the  "  Twice-Told 
Tales."  Furthermore,  as  the  volume  containing  it 
formed  a  link  in  his  acquaintance  with  Miss  Sophia  A. 
Peabody,  the  lady  whom  he  afterwards  married,  so  that 
particular  story  itself  was  by  her  made  the  subject  of 
a  drawing,  which  now  becomes  a  matter  of  literary  in- 
terest. A  special  edition  of  "The  Gentle  Boy"  was 
published  in  1839  :  it  was  a  thin,  oblong  quarto  in 
paper  covers,  accompanied  by  an  illustration,  engraved 
from  Miss  Peabody's  outline  drawing.  This  edition, 
now  so  rare  as  almost  to  have  passed  out  of  existence, 
contained  a  brief  preface  by  Hawthorne,  in  which  he 
said  :  "  The  tale,  of  which  a  new  edition  is  now  offered 
to  the  public,  was  among  the  earliest  efforts  of  its  au- 
thor's pen;  and,  little  noticed  on  its  first  appearance  in 
one  of  the  annuals,  appears  ultimately  to  have  awak- 
ened the  interest  of  a  larger  number  of  readers  than 
any  of  his  subsequent  productions;  .  .  .  there  are  sev- 
eral among  the  '  Twice-Told  Tales '  which,  on  repe- 
rusal,  affect  him  less  painfully  with  a  sense  of  imperfect 
and  ill-wrought  conception  than  '  The  Gentle  Boy.' 
But  the  opinion  of  many  .  .  .  compels  him  to  the  con- 
clusion that  nature  here  led  him  deeper  into  the  uni- 
versal heart  than  art  has  been  able  to  follow."  A  let- 
ter from  Hawthorne  to  Longfellow,  referring  to  the 
first  volum«|  of  the  tales,  contains  another  remark  of 
general  interest  :  "  I  have  another  great  difficulty  in 
the  lack  of  materials  ;  for  I  have  seen  so  little  of  the 
world  that  I  have  nothing  but  thin  air  to  concoct  my 


Vlll  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

stories  of.  ...  Sometimes,  through  a  peep-hole,  I  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  real  world,  and  the  two  or 
three  articles  in  which  I  have  portrayed  these  glimpses 
please  me  better  than  the  others." 

"  The  Toll-Gatherer's  Day,"  evidently  derived  from 
minute  observation  of  the  traffic  on  a  bridge  near 
Salem;  and  "Little  Annie's  Ramble,"  which  is  said  to 
have  had  for  its  heroine  a  child  from  real  life,  were 
perhaps  placed  by  the  Author  in  this  favored  category. 

The  paper  entitled  "  A  Sunday  at  Home  "  was  based 
on  a  meeting-house,  near  the  birthplace  in  Union 
Street,  concerning  which  Hawthorne's  surviving  sister 
writes  to  the  editor  :  "  It  never  had  a  steeple,  nor  a 
clock,  nor  a  bell,  nor,  of  course,  an  organ.  .  .  .  But 
Hawthorne  bestows  all  these  incitements  to  devotion  to 
atone  for  his  own  personal  withdrawal  from  such  in- 
fluences. It  was  from  the  house  on  Herbert  Street 
that  he  saw  what  he  describes."  But,  like  "  The  Seven 
Vagabonds  "  (founded  on  a  trip  which  the  Author  made 
through  part  of  Connecticut),  such  pieces  as  are  most 
tinged  with  actuality  have  not  interested  readers  so 
much  as  the  pure  invention  of  "  David  Swan,"  or  the 
weird  coloring  of  those  half-historic  records,  the  "  Le- 
gends of  the  Province  House." 

Nevertheless,  looked  at  closely,  and  with  due  know- 
ledge of  the  accompanying  facts  of  Hawthorne's  life  at 
the  time,1  the  whole  collection  affords,  besides  the  dis- 
tinct imaginative  pleasure  to  be  got  from  it,  valuable 
intimations  as  to  Hawthorne's  development  during  the 
first  decade  of  his  career  as  an  author.  ^, 

G.  P.  L. 

1  See  A  Study  of  Hawthorne,  Chapter  IV. 


PREFACE. 


|HE  Author  of  TWICE-TOLD  TALES  has  a  claim  to 
one  distinction,  which,  as  none  of  his  literary 
brethren  will  care  about  disputing  it  with  him, 
he  need  not  be  afraid  to  mention.  He  was,  for  a  good 
many  years,  the  obscurest  man  of  letters  in  America. 

These  stories  were  published  in  Magazines  and  Annuals, 
extending  over  a  period  of  ten  or  twelve  years,  and  com- 
prising the  whole  of  the  writer's  young  manhood,  without 
making  (so  far  as  he  has  ever  been  aware)  the  slightest 
impression  on  the  Public.  One  or  two  among  them  — 
the  RILL  FROM  TUB  TOWN  PUMP,  in  perhaps  a  greater 
degree  than  any  other  —  had  a  pretty  wide  newspaper 
circulation ;  as  for  the  rest,  he  has  no  grounds  for  sup- 
posing, that,  on  their  first  appearance,  they  met  with  the 
good  or  evil  fortune  to  be  read  by  anybody.  Through- 
out the  time  above  specified,  he  had  no  incitement  to 
literary  effort  in  a  reasonable  prospect  of  reputation  or 
profit ;  nothing  but  the  pleasure  itself  of  composition,  — 
an  enjoyment  not  at  all  amiss  in  its  way,  and  perhaps 


essential  to  the  merit  of  the  work  in  hand,  but  -which,  in 
the  long  run,  will  hardly  keep  the  chill  out  of  a  writer's 
heart,  or  the  numbness  out  of  his  fingers.  To  this  to- 
tal lack  of  sympathy,  at  the  age  when  his  mind  would 
naturally  have  been  most  effervescent,  the  Public  owe 
it  (and  it  is  certainly  an  effect  not  to  be  regretted,  on 
either  part),  that  the  Author  can  show  nothing  for  the 
thought  and  industry  of  that  portion  of  his  life,  save  the 
forty  sketches,  or  thereabouts,  included  in  these  volumes. 
Much  more,  indeed,  he  wrote  ;  and  some  very  small  part 
of  it  might  yet  be  rummaged  out  (but  it  would  not  be 
worth  the  trouble)  among  the  dingy  pages  of  fifteen-or- 
•twenty-year-old  periodicals,  or  within  the  shabby  mo- 
rocco covers  of  faded  Souvenirs.  The  remainder  of  the 
works,  alluded  to,  had  a  very  brief  existence,  but,  on  the 
score  of  brilliancy,  enjoyed  a  fate  vastly  superior  to  that 
of  their  brotherhood,  which  succeeded  in  getting  through 
the  press.  In  a  word,  the  Author  burned  them  without 
mercy  or  remorse,  and,  moreover,  without  any  subsequent 
regret,  and  had  more  than  one  occasion  to  marvel  that 
such  very  dull  stuff,  as  he  knew  his  condemned  manu- 
scripts to  be,  should  yet  have  possessed  inflammability 
enough  to  set  the  chimney  on  fire  ! 

After  a  long  while,  the  first  collected  volume  of  the 
Tales  was  published.  By  this  time,  if  the  Author  had 
ever  been  greatly  tormented  by  literary  ambition  (which 
he  does  not  remember  or  believe  to  have  been  the  case), 
it  must  have  perished,  beyond  resuscitation,  in  the  dearth 
of  nutriment.  This  was  fortunate ;  for  the  success  of 
the  volume  was  not  such  as  would  have  gratified  a  crav- 
ing desire  for  notoriety.  A  moderate  edition  was  "  got 


PREFACE.  XI 

rid  of"  (to  use  the  Publisher's  very  significant  phrase) 
within  a  reasonable  time,  but  apparently  without  render-- 
ing the  writer  or  his  productions  much  more  generally 
known  than  before.  The  great  bulk  of  the  reading  Pub- 
lic probably  ignored  the  book  altogether.  A  few  per- 
sons read  it,  and  liked  it  better  than  it  deserved.  At 
an  interval  of  three  or  four  years,  the  second  volume  was 
published,  and  encountered  much  the  same  sort  of  kindly, 
but  calm,  and  very  limited  reception.  The  circulation 
of  the  two  volumes  was  chiefly  confined  to  New  England ; 
nor  was  it  until  long  after  this  period,  if  it  even  yet  be 
the  case,  that  the  Author  could  regard  himself  as  address- 
ing the  American  Public,  or,  indeed,  any  Public  at  all. 
He  was  merely  writing  to  his  known  or  unknown  friends. 

As  he  glances  over  these  long-forgotten  pages,  and  con- 
siders his  way  of  life,  while  composing  them,  the  Author 
can  very  clearly  discern  why  all  this  was  so.  After  so 
many  sober  years,  he  would  have  reasons  to  be  ashamed 
if  he  could  not  criticise  his  own  work  as  fairly  as  another 
man's ;  and,  though  it  is  little  his  business  and  perhaps 
still  less  his  interest,  he  can  hardly  resist  a  temptation  to 
achieve  something  of  the  sort.  If  writers  were  allowed 
to  do  so,  and  would  perform  the  task  with  perfect  sin- 
cerity and  unreserve,  their  opinions  of  their  own  produc- 
tions would  often  be  more  valuable  and  instructive  than 
the  works  themselves. 

At  all  events,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  the  Author's 
remarking,  that  he  rather  wonders  how  the  TWICE-TOLD 
TALES  should  have  gained  what  vogue  they  did,  than 
that  it  was  so  little  and  so  gradual.  They  have  the  pale 
tint  of  flowers  that  blossomed  in  too  retired  a  shade, 


Xll  PREFACE. 

—  the  coolness  of  a  meditative  habit,  which  diffuses 
itself  through  the  feeling  and  observation  of  every 
sketch.  Instead  of  passion,  there  is  sentiment;  and, 
even  in  what  purport  to  be  pictures  of  actual  life,  we 
have  allegory,  not  always  so  warmly  dressed  in  its  habili- 
ments of  flesh  and  blood,  as  to  be  taken  into  the  reader's 
mind  without  a  shiver.  Whether  from  lack  of  power, 
or  an  unconquerable  reserve,  the  Author's  touches  have 
often  an  effect  of  tameness ;  the  merriest  man  can  hardly 
contrive  to  laugh  at  his  broadest  humor ;  the  tenderest 
woman,  one  would  suppose,  will  hardly  shed  warm  tears 
at  his  deepest  pathos.  The  book,  if  you  would  see  any- 
thing in  it,  requires  to  be  read  in  the  clear,  brown,  twi- 
light atmosphere  in  which  it  was  written ;  if  opened  in 
the  sunshine,  it  is  apt  to  look  exceedingly  like  a  volume 
of  blank  pages. 

With  the  foregoing  characteristics,  proper  to  the  pro- 
ductions of  a  person  in  retirement  (which  happened  to 
be  the  Author's  category  at  the  time),  the  book  is  devoid 
of  others  that  we  should  quite  as  naturally  look  for.  The 
sketches  are  not,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  profound  ; 
but  it  is  rather  more  remarkable  that  they  so  seldom,  if 
ever,  show  any  design  on  the  writer's  part  to  make  them 
so.  They  have  none  of  the  abstruseness  of  idea,  or  ob- 
scurity of  expression,  which  mark  the  written  communi- 
cations of  a  solitary  mind  with  itself.  They  never  need 
translation.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  style  of  a  man  of  society. 
Every  sentence,  so  far  as  it  embodies  thought  or  sensi- 
bility, may  be  understood  and  felt  by  anybody  who  will 
give  himself  the  trouble  to  read  it,  and  will  take  up  the 
book  in  a  proper  mood. 


PREFACE.  xiil 

This  statement  of  apparently  opposite  peculiarities  leads 
as  to  a  perception  of  what  the  sketches  truly  are.  They 
are  not  the  talk  of  a  secluded  man  with  his  own  mind  and 
heart  (had  it  been  so,  they  could  hardly  have  failed  to  be 
more  deeply  and  permanently  valuable),  but  his  attempts, 
and  very  imperfectly  successful  ones,  to  open  an  inter- 
course  with  the  world. 

The  Author  would  regret  to  be  understood  as  speaking 
sourly  or  querulously  of  the  slight  mark  made  by  his  earlier 
literary  efforts  on  the  Public  at  large.  It  is  so  far  the 
contrary,  that  he  has  been  moved  to  write  this  Preface, 
chiefly  as  affording  him  an  opportunity  to  express  how 
much  enjoyment  he  has  owed  to  these  volumes,  both 
before  and  since  their  publication.  They  are  the  me- 
morials of  very  tranquil  and  not  unhappy  years.  They 
failed,  it  is  true,  —  nor  could  it  have  been  otherwise,  —  in 
winning  an  extensive  popularity.  Occasionally,  however, 
when  he  deemed  them  entirely  forgotten,  a  paragraph  or 
an  article,  from  a  native  or  foreign  critic,  would  gratify 
his  instincts  of  authorship  with  unexpected  praise,  —  too 
generous  praise,  indeed,  and  too  little  alloyed  with  cen- 
sure, which,  therefore,  he  learned  the  better  to  inflict 
upon  himself.  And,  by  the  by,  it  is  a  very  suspicious 
symptom  of  a  deficiency  of  the  popular  element  in  a  book, 
when  it  calls  forth  no  harsh  criticism.  This  has  been 
particularly  the  fortune  of  the  TWICE-TOLD  TALES.  They 
made  no  enemies,  and  were  so  little  known  and  talked 
about,  that  those  who  read,  and  chanced  to  like  them, 
were  apt  to  conceive  the  sort  of  kindness  for  the  book 
which  a  person  naturally  feels  for  a  discovery  of  his  own. 

This  kindly  feeling  (in  some  cases  at  least)  extended 


to  the  Author,  who,  on  the  internal  evidence  of  his 
sketches,  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  mild,  shy,  gentle, 
melancholic,  exceedingly  sensitive,  and  not  very  forcible 
man,  hiding  his  blushes  under  an  assumed  name,  the 
quaintness  of  which  was  supposed,  somehow  or  other,  to 
symbolize  his  personal  and  literary  traits.  He  is  by  no 
means  certain  that  some  of  his  subsequent  productions 
have  not  been  influenced  and  modified  by  a  natural  desire 
to  fill  up  so  amiable  an  outline,  and  to  act  in  consonance 
with  the  character  assigned  to  him  ;  nor,  even  now,  could 
he  forfeit  it  without  a  few  tears  of  tender  sensibility. 
To  conclude,  however,  these  volumes  have  opened  the 
•way  to  most  agreeable  associations,  and  to  the  formation 
of  imperishable  friendships  ;  and  there  are  many  golden 
threads,  interwoven  with  his  present  happiness,  which  he 
can  follow  up  more  or  less  directly,  until  he  finds  their 
commencement  here  ;  so  that  his  pleasant  pathway  among 
realities  seems  to  proceed  out  of  the  Dreamland  of  his 
youth,  and  to  be  bordered  with  just  enough  of  its  shad- 
owy foliage  to  shelter  him  from  the  heat  of  the  day.  He 
is  therefore  satisfied  with  what  the  TWICE-TOLD  TALES 
have  done  for  him,  and  feels  it  to  be  far  better  than  fame. 

LENOX,  January  11,  1851. 


CONTENTS. 


VOLUME  I. 

PAGE 

THE  GRAY  CHAMPION 13 

SUNDAY  AT  HOME 24 

THE  WEDDING  KNELL 33 

THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL        ....  44 

THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT    ....  62 

THE  GENTLE  BOY 76 

MR.  HIGGINBOTHAM'S  CATASTROPHE         .        .        .116 

LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE 132 

WAKEFIELD 142 

A  RILL  FROM  THE  TOWN  PUMP    ....  154 

THE  GREAT  CARBUNCLE 162 

THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES 181 

DAVID  SWAN 199 

SIGHTS  FROM  A  STEEPLE 207 

THE  HOLLOW  OF  THE  THREE  HILLS        .        .        .  215 

THE  TOLL-GATHERER'S  DAY 221 

THE  VISION  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN         ....  229 

FANCY'S  Snow-Box 237 

DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT                                  .  245 


XVI  CONTENTS. 

VOLUME  II. 
LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE: — 

I.  HOWE'S  MASQUERADE 7 

II.   EDWARD  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT        .        .  26 

III.  LADY  ELEANORE'S  MANTLE    ....  42 

IV.  OLD  ESTHER  DUDLEY 62 

THE  HAUNTED  MIND 77 

THE  VILLAGE  UNCLE 83 

THE  AMBITIOUS  GUEST 98 

THE  SISTER  YEARS 109 

SNOW-FLAKES 119 

THE  SEVEN  VAGABONDS 126 

THE  WHITE  OLD  MAID 148 

PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE         ...  162 

CHIPPINGS  WITH  A  CHISEL 188 

THE  SHAKER  BRIDAL 201 

NIGHT  SKETCHES 209 

ENDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS     ....  217 

THE  LILY'S  QUEST 226 

FOOTPRINTS  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE    ....  235 

EDWARD  FANE'S  ROSEBUD 248 

THE  THREEFOLD  DESTINY      .        .  257 


TWICE-TOLD  TALES 

VOLUME  I. 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 


THE  GRAY  CHAMPION. 

JHERE  was  once  a  time  when  New  England 
groaned  under  the  actual  pressure  of  heavier 
wrongs  than  those  threatened  ones  which 
brought  on  the  Revolution.  James  II.,  the  bigoted 
successor  of  Charles  the  Voluptuous,  had  annulled  the 
charters  of  all  the  colonies,  and  sent  a  harsh  and  unprin- 
cipled soldier  to  take  away  our  liberties  and  endanger 
our  religion.  The  administration  of  Sir  Edmund  Andros 
lacked  scarcely  a  single  characteristic  of  tyranny:  a 
Governor  and  Council,  holding  office  from  the  King, 
and  wholly  independent  of  the  country ;  laws  made  and 
taxes  levied  without  concurrence  of  the  people,  imme- 
diate or  by  their  representatives ;  the  rights  of  private 
citizens  violated,  and  the  titles  of  all  landed  property 
declared  void ;  the  voice  of  complaint  stifled  by  restric- 
tions on  the  press  ;  and,  finally,  disaffection  overawed  by 
the  first  band  of  mercenary  troops  that  ever  marched  on 
our  free  soil.  Por  two  years  our  ancestors  were  kept  ia 
sullen  submission  by  that  filial  love  which  had  invariably 


14  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

secured  their  allegiance  to  the  mother  country,  whether 
its  head  chanced  to  be  a  Parliament,  Protector,  or  Popish 
Monarch.  Till  these  evil  times,  however,  such  allegiance 
had  been  merely  nominal,  and  the  colonists  had  ruled 
themselves,  enjoying  far  more  freedom  than  is  even  yet 
the  privilege  of  the  native  subjects  of  Great  Britain. 

At  length  a  rumor  reached  our  shores  that  the  Prince 
of  Orange  had  ventured  on  an  enterprise  the  success  of 
which  would  be  the  triumph  of  civil  and  religious  rights 
and  the  salvation  of  New  England.  It  was  but  a  doubt- 
ful whisper ;  it  might  be  false,  or  the  attempt  might  fail ; 
and,  in  either  case,  the  man  that  stirred  against  King 
James  would  lose  his  head.  Still,  the  intelligence  pro- 
duced a  marked  effect.  The  people  smiled  mysteriously 
in  the  streets,  and  threw  bold  glances  at  their  oppressors ; 
while,  far  and  wide,  there  was  a  subdued  and  silent  agita- 
tion, as  if  the  slightest  signal  would  rouse  the  whole  land 
from  its  sluggish  despondency.  Aware  of  their  danger, 
the  rulers  resolved  to  avert  it  by  an  imposing  display  of 
strength,  and  perhaps  to  confirm  their  despotism  by  yet 
harsher  measures.  One  afternoon  in  April,  1689,  Sir 
Edmund  Andros  and  his  favorite  councillors,  being  warm 
with  wine,  assembled  the  redcoats  of  the  Governor's 
Guard,  and  made  their  appearance  in  the  streets  of 
Boston.  The  sun  was  near  setting  when  the  march 
commenced. 

The  roll  of  the  drum,  at  that  unquiet  crisis,  seemed 
to  go  through  the  streets,  less  as  the  martial  music  of 
the  soldiers,  than  as  a  muster-call  to  the  inhabitants 
themselves.  A  multitude,  by  various  avenues,  assem- 
bled in  King  Street,  which  was  destined  to  be  the  scene, 
nearly  a  century  afterwards,  of  another  encounter  be- 
tween the  troops  of  Britain  and  a  people  struggling 
against  her  tyranny.  Though  more  than  sixty  years  had 


THE    GKAY    CHAMPION.  15 

elapsed  since  the  Pilgrims  came,  this  crowd  of  their 
descendants  still  showed  the  strong  and  sombre  features 
of  their  character,  perhaps  more  strikingly  in  such  a 
stern  emergency  than  on  happier  occasions.  There  were 
the  sober  garb,  the  general  severity  of  mien,  the  gloomy 
but  undismayed  expression,  the  Scriptural  forms  of  speech, 
and  the  confidence  in  Heaven's  blessing  on  a  righteous 
cause,  which  would  have  marked  a  band  of  the  original 
Puritans,  when  threatened  by  some  peril  of  the  wilder- 
ness. Indeed,  it  was  not  yet  time  for  the  old  spirit  to 
be  extinct ;  since  there  were  men  in  the  street,  that  day, 
who  had  worshipped  there  beneath  the  trees,  before  a 
house  was  reared  to  the  God  for  whom  they  had  become 
exiles.  Old  soldiers  of  the  Parliament  were  here,  too, 
smiling  grimly  at  the  thought,  that  their  aged  arms  might 
strike  another  blow  against  the  house  of  Stuart.  Here, 
also,  were  the  veterans  of  King  Philip's  war,  who  had 
burned  villages  and  slaughtered  young  and  old,  with 
pious  fierceness,  while  the  godly  souls  throughout  the 
land  were  helping  them  with  prayer.  Several  ministers 
were  scattered  among  the  crowd,  which,  unlike  all  other 
mobs,  regarded  them  with  such  reverence,  as  if  there 
were  sanctity  in  their  very  garments.  These  holy  men 
exerted  their  influence  to  quiet  the  people,  but  not  to 
disperse  them.  Meantime,  the  purpose  of  the  Governor, 
in  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  town,  at  a  period  when 
the  slightest  commotion  might  throw  the  country  into  a. 
iiTinent,  was  almost  the  universal  subject  of  inquiry,  and 
variously  explained. 

"  Satan  will  strike  his  master-stroke  presently,"  cried 
some,  "  because  he  knoweth  that  his  time  is  short.  All 
our  godly  pastors  are  to  be  dragged  to  prison !  We 
shall  see  them  at  a  Smithfield  fire  in  King  Street !  " 

Hereupon  the  people  of  each  parish  gathered  closer 


16  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

round  their  minister,  who  looked  calmly  upwards  and 
assumed  a  more  apostolic  dignity,  as  well  befitted  a 
candidate  for  the  highest  honor  of  his  profession,  the 
crown  of  martyrdom.  It  was  actually  fancied,  at  that 
period,  that  New  England  might  have  a  John  Rogers 
of  her  own,  to  take  the  place  of  that  worthy  in  the 
Primer. 

"  The  Pope  of  Rome  has  given  orders  for  a  new  St. 
Bartholomew !  "  cried  others.  "  We  are  to  be  massacred, 
man  and  male  child !  " 

Neither  was  this  rumor  wholly  discredited,  although 
the  wiser  class  believed  the  Governor's  object  somewhat 
less  atrocious.  His  predecessor  under  the  old  charter, 
Bradstreet,  a  venerable  companion  of  the  first  settlers, 
was  known  to  be  in  town.  There  were  grounds  for  con- 
jecturing that  Sir  Edmund  Andros  intended,  at  once,  to 
strike  terror,  by  a  parade  of  military  force,  and  to  con- 
found the  opposite  faction  by  possessing  himself  of  their 
chief. 

"  Stand  firm  for  the  old  charter,  Governor !  "  shouted 
the  crowd,  seizing  upon  the  idea.  "  The  good  old  Gov- 
ernor Bradstreet ! " 

While  this  cry  was  at  the  loudest,  the  people  were 
surprised  by  the  well-known  figure  of  Governor  Brad- 
street  himself,  a  patriarch  of  nearly  ninety,  who  appeared 
on  the  elevated  steps  of  a  door,  and,  with  characteristic 
mildness,  besought  them  to  submit  to  the  constituted 
authorities. 

"  My  children,"  concluded  this  venerable  person,  "  do 
nothing  rashly.  Cry  not  aloud,  but  pray  for  the  welfare 
of  New  England,  and  expect  patiently  what  the  Lord 
will  do  in  this  matter ! " 

The  event  was  soon  to  be  decided.  All  this  time,  the 
roll  of  the  drum  had  been  approaching  through  Coruhill, 


THE    GRAY    CHAMPION.  17 

louder  and  deeper,  till  with  reverberations  from  house 
to  house,  and  the  regular  tramp  of  martial  footsteps,  it 
burst  into  the  street.  A  double  rank  of  soldiers  made 
their  appearance,  •  occupying  the  whole  breadth  of  the 
passage,  with  shouldered  matchlocks,  and  matches  burn- 
ing, so  as  to  present  a  row  of  fires  in  the  dusk.  Their 
steady  march  was  like  the  progress  of  a  machine,  that 
would  roll  irresistibly  over  everything  in  its  way.  Next, 
moving  slowly,  with  a  confused  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the 
pavement,  rode  a  party  of  mounted  gentlemen,  the  cen- 
tral figure  being  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  elderly,  but  erect 
and  soldier-like.  Those  around  him  were  his  favorite 
councillors,  and  the  bitterest  foes  of  New  England.  At 
his  right  hand  rode  Edward  Randolph,  our  arch-enemy, 
that "  blasted  wretch,"  as  Cotton  Mather  calls  him,  who 
achieved  the  downfall  of  our  ancient  government,  and 
was  followed  with  a  sensible  curse,  through  life  and  to 
his  grave.  On  the  other  side  was  Bullivant,  scattering 
jests  and  mockery  as  he  rode  along.  Dudley  came  be- 
hind, with  a  downcast  look,  dreading,  as  well  he  might, 
to  meet  the  indignant  gaze  of  the  people,  who  beheld 
him,  their  only  countryman  by  birth,  among  the  oppress- 
ors of  his  native  land.  The  captain  of  a  frigate  in  the 
harbor,  and  two  or  three  civil  officers  under  the  Crown, 
were  also  there.  But  the  figure  which  most  attracted 
the  public  eye,  and  stirred  up  the  deepest  feeling,  was 
the  Episcopal  clergyman  of  King's  Chapel,  riding  haugh- 
tily among  the  magistrates  in  his  priestly  vestments, 
the  fitting  representative  of  prelacy  and  persecution,  the 
union  of  Church  and  State,  and  all  those  abominations 
which  had  driven  the  Puritans  to  the  wilderness.  An- 
other guard  of  soldiers,  in  double  rank,  brought  up  the 
rear. 

The  whole  scene  was  a  picture  of  the  condition  of  New 


18  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

England,  and  its  moral,  the  deformity  of  any  government 
that  does  not  grow  out  of  the  nature  of  things  and  the 
character  of  "  e  people.  On  one  side  the  religious  mul- 
titude, with  their  sad  visages  and  dark  attire,  and  on  the 
other,  the  group  of  despotic  rulers,  with  the  High-Church- 
man in  the  midst,  and  here  and  there  a  crucifix  at  their 
bosoms,  all  magnificently  clad,  flushed  with  wine,  proud 
of  unjust  authority,  aud  scoffing  at  the  universal  groan. 
And  the  mercenary  soldiers,  waiting  but  the  word  to 
deluge  the  street  with  blood,  showed  the  only  means  by 
which  obedience  could  be  secured. 

"  0  Lord  of  Hosts,"  cried  a  voice  among  the  crowd, 
"  provide  a  Champion  for  thy  people !  " 

This  ejaculation  was  loudly  uttered,  and  served  as  a 
herald's  cry,  to  introduce  a  remarkable  personage.  The 
crowd  had  rolled  back,  and  were  now  huddled  together 
nearly  at  the  extremity  of  the  street,  while  the  soldiers 
had  advanced  no  more  than  a  third  of  its  length.  The 
intervening  space  was  empty,  —  a  paved  solitude,  between 
lofty  edifices,  which  threw  almost  a  twilight  shadow  over 
it.  Suddenly,  there  was  seen  the  figure  of  an  ancient 
man,  who  seemed  to  have  emerged  from  among  the  peo- 
ple, and  was  walking  by  himself  along  the  centre  of  the 
street,  to  confront  the  armed  band.  He  wore  the  old 
Puritan  dress,  a  dark  cloak  and  a  steeple-crowned  hat, 
in  the  fashion  of  at  least  fifty  years  before,  with  a  heavy 
sword  upon  his  thigh,  but  a  staff  in  his  hand  to  assist  the 
tremulous  gait  of  age. 

When  at  some  distance  from  the  multitude,  the  old 
man  turned  slowly  round,  displaying  a  face  of  antique 
majesty,  rendered  doubly  venerable  by  the  hoary  beard 
that  descended  on  his  breast.  He  made  a  gesture  at 
once  of  encouragement  and  warning,  then  turned  again, 
and  resumed  his  way. 


THE    GRAY    CHAMPION.  19 

"  Who  is  this  gray  patriarch  ?  "  asked  the  young  meu 
of  their  sires. 

"  Who  is  this  venerable  brother  ?  "  asked  the  old  men 
among  themselves. 

But  none  could  make  reply.  The  fathers  of  the  peo- 
ple, those  of  fourscore  years  and  upwards,  were  dis- 
turbed, deeming  it  strange  that  they  should  forget  one 
of  such  evident  authority,  whom  they  must  have  known 
in  their  early  days,  the  associate  of  Winthrop,  and  all 
the  old  councillors,  giving  laws,  and  making  prayers,  and 
leading  them  against  the  savage.  The  elderly  men  ought 
to  have  remembered  him,  too,  with  locks  as  gray  in  their 
youth  as  their  own  were  now.  And  the  young !  How 
could  he  have  passed  so  utterly  from  their  memories,  — 
that  hoary  sire,  the  relic  of  long-departed  times,  whose 
awful  benediction  had  surely  been  bestowed  on  their 
uncovered  heads,  in  childhood? 

"Whence  did  he  come?  What  is  his  purpose? 
Who  can  this  old  man  be  ?  "  whispered  the  wondering 
crowd. 

Meanwhile,  the  venerable  stranger,  staif  in  hand,  was 
pursuing  his  solitary  walk  along  the  centre  of  the  street. 
As  he  drew  near  the  advancing  soldiers,  and  as  the  roll 
of  their  drum  came  full  upon  his  ear,  the  old  man  raised 
himself  to  a  loftier  mien,  while  the  decrepitude  of  age 
seemed  to  fall  from  his  shoulders,  leaving  him  in  gray 
but  unbroken  dignity.  Now,  he  marched  onward  with 
a  warrior's  step,  keeping  time  to  the  military  music. 
Thus  the  aged  form  advanced  on  one  side,  and  the  whole 
parade  of  soldiers  and  magistrates  on  the  other,  till,  when 
scarcely  twenty  yards  remained  between,  the  old  man 
grasped  his  staff  by  the  middle,  and  held  it  before  him 
like  a  leader's  truncheon. 

"Stand!  "  cried  he. 


20  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

The  eye,  the  face,  and  attitude  of  command ;  the  sol- 
emn, yet  warlike  peal  of  that  voice,  fit  either  to  rule  a 
host  in  the  battle-field  or  be  raised  to  God  in  prayer, 
were  irresistible.  At  the  old  man's  word  and  out- 
stretched arm,  the  roll  of  the  drum  was  hushed  at  once, 
and  the  advancing  line  stood  still.  A  tremulous  enthu- 
siasm seized  upon  the  multitude.  That  stately  form, 
combining  the  leader  and  the  saint,  so  gray,  so  dimly 
seen,  in  such  an  ancient  garb,  could  only  belong  to  some 
old  champion  of  the  righteous  cause,  whom  the  oppress- 
or's drum  had  summoned  from  his  grave.  They  raised 
a  shout  of  awe  and  exultation,  and  looked  for  the  deliv- 
erance of  New  England. 

The  Governor,  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  party,  per- 
ceiving themselves  brought  to  an  unexpected  stand, 
rode  hastily  forward,  as  if  they  would  have  pressed 
their  snorting  and  affrighted  horses  right  against  the 
hoary  apparition.  He,  however,  blenched  not  a  step, 
but  glancing  his  severe  eye  round  the  group,  which 
half  encompassed  him,  at  last  bent  it  sternly  on  Sir 
Edmund  Audros.  One  would  have  thought  that  the 
dark  old  man  was  chief  ruler  there,  and  that  the  Gov- 
ernor and  Council,  with  soldiers  at  their  back,  repre- 
senting the  whole  power  and  authority  of  the  Crown, 
had  no  alternative  but  obedience. 

"  What  does  this  old  fellow  here  ? "  cried  Edward 
Randolph,  fiercely.  "  On,  Sir  Edmund  !  Bid  the  sol- 
diers forward,  and  give  the  dotard  the  same  choice  that 
you  give  all  his  countrymen,  —  to  stand  aside  or  be 
trampled  on  ! " 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  us  show  respect  to  the  good  grand- 
sire,"  said  Bullivantv  laughing.  "  See  you  not,  he  is 
some  old  round-headed  dignitary,  who  hath  lain  asleep 
these  thirty  years,  and  knows  nothing  of  the  change  of 


THE    GRAY    CHAMPION.  21 

times?  Doubtless,  he  thinks  to  put  us  down  with  a 
proclamation  in  Old  Noll's  name  !  " 

"  Are  you  mad,  old  man  ? "  demanded  Sir  Edmund 
Andros,  in  loud  and  harsh  tones.  "  How  dare  you  stay 
the  march  of  King  James's  Governor  ?  " 

"  I  have  stayed  the  march  of  a  king  himself,  ere  now,5* 
replied  the  gray  figure,  with  stern  composure.  "I  am 
here,  Sir  Governor,  because  the  cry  of  an  oppressed 
people  hath  disturbed  me  in  my  secret  place;  and  be- 
seeching this  favor  earnestly  of  the  Lord,  it  was  vouch- 
safed me  to  appear  once  again  on  earth,  in  the  good 
old  cause  of  his  saints.  And  what  speak  ye  of  James  ? 
There  is  no  longer  a  Popish  tyrant  on  the  throne  of 
England,  and  by  to-morrow  noon  his  name  shall  be  a 
byword  in  this  very  street,  where  ye  would  make  it  a 
word  of  terror.  Back,  thou  that  wast  a  Governor,  back  ! 
With  this  night  thy  power  is  ended,  —  to-morrow,  the 
prison !  —  back,  lest  I  foretell  the  scaffold  !  " 

The  people  had  been  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
drinking  in  the  words  of  their  champion,  who  spoke  in 
accents  long  disused,  like  one  unaccustomed  to  converse, 
except  with  the  dead  of  many  years  ago.  But  his  voice 
stirred  their  souls.  They  confronted  the  soldiers,  not 
wholly  without  arms,  and  ready  to  convert  the  very 
stones  of  the  street  into  deadly  weapons.  Sir  Edmund 
Andros  looked  at  the  old  man  ;  then  he  cast  his  hard  and 
cruel  eye  over  the  multitude,  and  beheld  them  burning 
with  that  lurid  wrath,  so  difficult  to  kindle  or  to  quench ; 
and  again  he  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  aged  form,  which 
stood  obscurely  in  an  open  space,  where  neither  friend 
nor  foe  had  thrust  himself.  What  were  his  thoughts,  he 
uttered  no  word  which  might  discover.  But  whether 
the  oppressor  were  overawed  by  the  Gray  Champion's 
look,  or  perceived  his  peril  in  the  threatening  attitude  of 


22  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  people,  it  is  certain  that  he  gave  back,  and  ordered 
his  soldiers  to  commence  a  slow  and  guarded  retreat. 
Before  another  sunset,  the  Governor,  and  all  that  rode  so 
proudly  with  him,  were  prisoners,  and  long  ere  it  was 
known  that  James  had  abdicated,  King  William  was  pro- 
claimed throughout  New  England. 

But  where  was  the  Gray  Champion  ?  Some  reported, 
that  when  the  troops  had  gone  from  King  Street,  and 
the  people  were  thronging  tumultuously  in  their  rear, 
Bradstreet,  the  aged  Governor,  was  seen  to  embrace  a 
form  more  aged  than  his  own.  Others  soberly  affirmed, 
that  while  they  marvelled  at  the  venerable  grandeur  of 
his  aspect,  the  old  man  had  faded  from  their  eyes,  melting 
slowly  into  the  hues  of  twilight,  till,  where  he  stood, 
there  was  an  empty  space.  But  all  agreed  that  the 
hoary  shape  was  gone.  The  men  of  that  generation 
watched  for  his  reappearance,  in  sunshine  and  in  twi- 
light, but  never  saw  him  more,  nor  knew  when  his  fune- 
ral passed,  nor  where  his  gravestone  was. 

And  who  was  the  Gray  Champion  ?  Perhaps  his  name 
might  be  found  in  the  records  of  that  stern  Court  of  Jus- 
tice, which  passed  a  sentence,  too  mighty  for  the  age, 
but  glorious  in  all  after  times,  for  its  humbling  lesson  to 
the  monarch  and  its  high  example  to  the  subject.  I  have 
heard,  that  whenever  the  descendants  of  the  Puritans  are 
to  show  the  spirit  of  their  sires,  the  old  man  appears 
again.  When  eighty  years  had  passed,  he  walked  once 
more  in  King  Street.  Five  years  later,  in  the  twilight 
of  an  April  morning,  he  stood  on  the  green,  beside  the 
meeting-house,  at  Lexington,  where  now  the  obelisk  of 
granite,  with  a  slab  of  slate  inlaid,  commemorates  the 
first  fallen  of  the  Revolution.  And  when  our  fathers 
were  toiling  at  the  breastwork  on  Bunker's  Hill,  all 
through  that  night  the  old  warrior  walked  his  rounds. 


THE    GRAY    CHAMPION.  23 

Long,  long  may  it  be,  ere  he  conies  again  !  His  hour  is 
one  of  darkness,  and  adversity,  and  peril.  But  should 
domestic  tyranny  oppress  us,  or  the  invader's  step  pol- 
lute our  soil,  still  may  the  Gray  Champion  come,  for  he 
is  the  type  of  New  England's  hereditary  spirit,  and  his 
shadowy  march,  on  the  eve  of  danger,  must  ever  be  the 
pledge  that  New  England's  sons  will  vindicate  their 
ancestry. 


SUNDAY  AT  HOME. 

|VERY  Sabbath  morning  in  the  summer  time  I 
thrust  back  the  curtain,  to  watch  the  sunrise 
stealing  down  a  steeple,  which  stands  opposite 
my  chamber-window.  First,  the  weathercock  begins  to 
flash ;  then,  a  fainter  lustre  gives  the  spire  an  airy  aspect ; 
next  it  encroaches  on  the  tower,  and  causes  the  index  of 
the  dial  to  glisten  like  gold,  as  it  points  to  the  gilded  fig- 
ure of  the  hour.  Now,  the  loftiest  window  gleams,  and 
now  the  lower.  The  carved  framework  of  the  portal 
is  marked  strongly  out.  At  length,  the  morning  glory, 
in  its  descent  from  heaven,  comes  down  the  stone  steps, 
one  by  one ;  and  there  stands  the  steeple,  glowing  with 
fresh  radiance,  while  the  shades  of  twilight  still  hide 
themselves  among  the  nooks  of  the  adjacent  buildings. 
Methinks,  though  the  same  sun  brightens  it  every  fair 
morning,  yet  the  steeple  has  a  peculiar  robe  of  brightness 
for  the  Sabbath. 

By  dwelling  near  a  church,  a  person  soon  contracts  an 
attachment  for  the  edifice.  We  naturally  personify  it, 
and  conceive  its  massive  walls  and  its  dim  emptiness  to 
be  instinct  with  a  calm,  and  meditative,  and  somewhat 
melancholy  spirit.  But  the  steeple  stands  foremost,  in 
our  thoughts,  as  well  as  locally.  It  impresses  us  as  a 
giant,  with  a  mind  comprehensive  and  discriminating 


SUNDAY    AT    HOME.  25 

enough  to  care  for  the  great  and  small  concerns  of  all  the 
town.  Hourly,  while  it  speaks  a  moral  to  the  few  that 
think,  it  reminds  thousands  of  busy  individuals  of  their 
separate  and  most  secret  affairs.  It  is  the  steeple,  too, 
that  flings  abroad  the  hurried  and  irregular  accents  of 
general  alarm ;  neither  have  gladness  and  festivity  found 
a  better  utterance,  than  by  its  tongue ;  and  when  the 
dead  are  slowly  passing  to  their  home,  the  steeple  has 
a  melancholy  voice  to  bid  them  welcome.  Yet,  in  spite 
of  this  connection  with  human  interests,  what  a  moral 
loneliness,  on  week-days,  broods  round  about  its  stately 
height !  It  has  no  kindred  with  the  houses  above  which 
it  towers ;  it  looks  down  into  the  narrow  thoroughfare, 
the  lonelier,  because  the  crowd  are  elbowing  their  passage 
at  its  base.  A  glance  at  the  body  of  the  church  deepens 
this  impression.  Within,  by  the  light  of  distant  win- 
dows, amid  refracted  shadows,  we  discern  the  vacant  pews 
and  empty  galleries,  the  silent  organ,  the  voiceless  pulpit, 
and  the  clock,  which  tells  to  solitude  how  time  is  pass- 
ing. Time,  —  where  man  lives  not,  —  what  is  it  but  eter- 
nity ?  And  in  the  church,  we  might  suppose,  are  garnered 
up,  throughout  the  week,  all  thoughts  and  feelings  that 
have  reference  to  eternity,  until  the  holy  day  comes  round 
again,  to  let  them  forth.  Might  not,  then,  its  more  ap- 
propriate site  be  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  with  space 
for  old  trees  to  wave  around  it,  and  throw  their  solemn 
shadows  over  a  quiet  green  ?  We  will  say  more  of  this, 
hereafter. 

But,  on  the  Sabbath,  I  watch  the  earliest  sunshine,  and 
fancy  that  a  holier  brightness  marks  the  day,  when  there 
shall  be  no  buzz  of  voices  on  the  exchange,  nor  traffic  in 
the  shops,  nor  crowd,  nor  business,  anywhere  but  at 
church.  Many  have  fancied  so.  For  my  own  part, 
whether  I  see  it  scattered  down  among  tangled  woods, 


26  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

or  beaming  broad  across  the  fields,  or  hemmed  in  between 
brick  buildings,  or  tracing  out  the  figure  of  the  casement 
on  rny  chamber-floor,  still  I  recognize  the  Sabbath  sun- 
shine. And  ever  let  me  recognize  it  !  Some  illusions, 
and  this  among  them,  are  the  shadows  of  great  truths. 
Doubts  may  flit  around  me,  or  seem  to  close  their  evil 
wings,  and  settle  down ;  but  so  long  as  I  imagine  that  the 
earth  is  hallowed,  and  the  light  of  heaven  retains  its 
sanctity,  on  the  Sabbath,  —  while  that  blessed  sunshine 
lives  within  me,  — never  can  my  soul  have  lost  the  in- 
stinct of  its  faith.  If  it  have  gone  astray,  it  will  return 
again. 

I  love  to  spend  such  pleasant  Sabbaths,  from  morning 
till  night,  behind  the  curtain  of  my  open  window.  Are 
they  spent  amiss  ?  Every  spot,  so  near  the  church  as  to 
be  visited  by  the  circling  shadow  of  the  steeple,  should 
be  deemed  consecrated  ground,  to-day.  With  stronger 
truth  be  it  said,  that  a  devout  heart  may  consecrate  a 
den  of  thieves,  as  an  evil  one  may  convert  a  temple  to 
the  same.  My  heart,  perhaps,  has  not  such  holy,  nor,  I 
would  fain  trust,  such  impious  potency.  It  must  suffice, 
that,  though  my  form  be  absent,  my  inner  man  goes  con- 
stantly to  church,  while  many,  whose  bodily  presence 
fills  the  accustomed  seats,  have  left  their  souls  at  home. 
But  I  am  there,  even  before  my  friend,  the  sexton.  At 
length,  he  comes,  —  a  man  of  kindly,  but  sombre  aspect, 
in  dark  gray  clothes,  and  hair  of  the  same  mixture,  —  he 
comes  and  applies  his  key  to  the  wide  portal.  Now  my 
thoughts  may  go  in  among  the  dusty  pews,  or  ascend 
the  pulpit  without  sacrilege,  but  soon  come  forth  again 
to  enjoy  the  music  of  the  bell.  How  glad,  yet  solemn 
too  !  All  the  steeples  in  town  are  talking  together,  alott 
in  the  sunny  air,  and  rejoicing  among  themselves,  while 
their  spires  point  heavenward.  Meantime,  here  are  the 


SUNDAY   AT    HOME.  27 

children  assembling  to  the  Sabbath  school,  which  is  kept 
somewhere  within  the  church.  Often,  while  looking  at 
the  arched  portal,  I  have  been  gladdened  by  the  sight  of 
a  score  of  these  little  girls  and  boys,  in  pink,  blue,  yel- 
low, and  crimson  frocks,  bursting  suddenly  forth  into  the 
sunshine,  like  a  swarm  of  gay  butterflies  that  had  been 
shut  up  in  the  solemn  gloom.  Or  I  might  compare  them 
to  cherubs,  haunting  that  holy  place. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  second  ringing 
of  the  bell,  individuals  of  the  congregation  begin  to  ap- 
pear. The  earliest  is  invariably  an  old  woman  in  black, 
whose  bent  frame  and  rounded  shoulders  are  evidently 
laden  with  some  heavy  affliction,  which  she  is  eager  to 
rest  upon  the  altar.  Would  that  the  Sabbath  came 
twice  as  often,  for  the  sake  of  that  sorrowful  old  soul ! 
There  is  an  elderly  man,  also,  who  arrives  in  good  sea- 
sou,  and  leans  against  the  corner  of  the  tower,  just 
within  the  line  of  its  shadow,  looking  downward  with  a 
darksome  brow.  I  sometimes  fancy  that  the  old  woman 
is  the  happier  of  the  two.  After  these,  others  drop  in 
singly,  and  by  twos  and  threes,  either  disappearing 
through  the  doorway  or  taking  their  stand  in  its  vicinity. 
At  last,  and  always  with  an  unexpected  sensation,  the 
bell  turns  in  the  steeple  overhead,  and  throws  out  an. 
irregular  clangor,  jarring  the  tower  to  its  foundation. 
As  if  there  were  magic  in  the  sound,  the  sidewalks  of 
the  street,  both  up  and  down  along,  are  immediately 
thronged  with  two  long  lines  of  people,  all  converging 
hitherward,  and  streaming  into  the  church.  Perhaps  the 
far-off  roar  of  a  coach  draws  nearer,  —  a  deeper  thunder 
by  its  contrast  with  the  surrounding  stillness,  —  until  it 
sets  down  the  wealthy  worshippers  at  the  portal,  among 
their  humblest  brethren.  Beyond  that  entrance,  in  theory 
at  least,  there  are  no  distinctions  of  earthly  rank ;  nor, 


28  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

indeed,  by  the  goodly  apparel  which  is  flaunting  in  the 
sun,  would  there  seem  to  be  such,  on  the  hither  side. 
Those  pretty  girls !  Why  will  they  disturb  my  pious 
meditations !  Of  all  days  in  the  week,  they  should  strive 
to  look  least  fascinating  on  the  Sabbath,  instead  of  height- 
ening their  mortal  loveliness,  as  if  to  rival  the  blessed 
angels,  and  keep  our  thoughts  from  heaven.  Were  I 
the  minister  himself,  I  must  needs  look.  One  girl  is 
white  muslin  from  the  waist  upwards,  and  black  silk 
downwards  to  her  slippers ;  a  second  blushes  from  top- 
knot to  shoetie,  one  universal  scarlet ;  another  shines  of 
a  pervading  yellow,  as  if  she  had  made  a  garment  of  the 
sunshine.  The  greater  part,  however,  have  adopted  a 
milder  cheerfulness  of  hue.  Their  veils,  especially  when 
the  wind  raises  them,  give  a  lightness  to  the  general  ef- 
fect, and  make  them  appear  like  airy  phantoms,  as  they 
flit  up  the  steps,  and  vanish  into  the  sombre  doorway. 
Nearly  all  —  though  it  is  very  strange  that  I  should 
know  it  —  wear  white  stockings,  white  as  snow,  and  neat 
slippers,  laced  crosswise  with  black  ribbon,  pretty  high 
above  the  ankles.  A  white  stocking  is  infinitely  more 
effective  than  a  black  one. 

Here  comes  the  clergyman,  slow  and  solemn,  in  severe 
simplicity,  needing  no  black  silk  gown  to  denote  his 
office.  His  aspect  claims  my  reverence,  but  cannot  win 
my  love.  Were  I  to  picture  Saint  Peter,  keeping  fast 
the  gate  of  heaven,  and  frowning,  more  stern  than  piti- 
ful, on  the  wretched  applicants,  that  face  should  be  my 
study.  By  middle  age,  or  sooner,  the  creed  has  gener- 
ally wrought  upon  the  heart,  or  been  attempered  by  it. 
As  the  minister  passes  into  the  church,  the  bell  holds  its 
iron  tongue,  and  all  the  low  murmur  of  the  congregation 
dies  away.  The  gray  sexton  looks  up  and  down  the 
street,  and  then  at  my  window-curtain,  where,  through 


SUNDAY   AT    HOME.  29 

the  small  peephole,  I  half  fancy  that  he  has  caught  my 
eye.  Now,  every  loiterer  has  gone  in,  and  the  street  lies 
asleep  iu  the  quiet  sun,  while  a  feeling  of  loneliness 
comes  over  me,  and  brings  also  an  uneasy  sense  of  neg- 
lected privileges  and  duties.  O,  I  ought  to  have  gone 
to  church  !  The  hustle  of  the  rising  congregation  reaches 
my  ears.  They  are  standing  up  to  pray.  Could  I  bring 
my  heart  into  unison  with  those  who  are  praying  in  yon- 
der church,  and  lift  it  heavenward,  with  a  fervor  of  sup- 
plication, but  no  distinct  request,  would  not  that  be  the 
safest  kind  of  prayer  ?  "  Lord,  look  down  upon  me  in 
mercy  !  "  With  that  sentiment  gushing  from  my  soul, 
might  I  not  leave  all  the  rest  to  Him? 

Hark !  the  hymn.  This,  at  least,  is  a  portion  of  the 
service  which  I  can  enjoy  better  than  if  I  sat  within  the 
walls,  where  the  full  choir  and  the  massive  melody  of 
the  organ,  would  fall  witli  a  weight  upon  me.  At  this 
distance,  it  thrills  through  my  frame,  and  plays  upon  my 
heartstrings,  with  a  pleasure  both  of  the  sense  and  spirit. 
Heaven  be  praised,  I  know  nothing  of  music,  as  a  science ; 
and  the  most  elaborate  harmonies,  if  they  please  me, 
please  as  simply  as  a  nurse's  lullaby.  The  strain  has 
ceased,  but  prolongs  itself  in  my  mind,  with  fanciful 
echoes,  till  I  start  from  my  revery,  and  find  that  the 
sermon  has  commenced.  It  is  my"  misfortune  seldom  to 
fructify,  in  a  regular  way,  by  any  but  printed  sermons. 
The  first  strong  idea,  which  the  preacher  utters,  gives 
birth  to  a  train  of  thought,  and  leads  me  onward,  step  by 
step,  quite  out  of  hearing  of  the  good  man's  voice,  unless 
he  be  indeed  a  son  of  thunder.  At  my  open  window, 
catching  now  and  then  a  sentence  of  the  "  parson's  saw," 
I  am  as  well  situated  as  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs. 
The  broken  and  scattered  fragments  of  this  one  discourse 
will  be  the  texts  of  many  sermons,  preached  by  those 


30  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

colleague  pastors,  —  colleagues,  but  often  disputants,  — • 
my  Mind  and  Heart.  The  former  pretends  to  be  a 
scholar,  and  perplexes  me  with  doctrinal  points ;  the 
latter  takes  me  on  the  score  of  feeling ;  and  both,  like 
several  other  preachers,  spend  their  strength  to  very 
little  purpose.  I,  their  sole  auditor,  cannot  always  un- 
derstand them. 

Suppose  that  a  few  hours  have  passed,  and  behold  me 
still  behind  my  curtain,  just  before  the  close  of  the  after- 
noon service.  The  hour-hand  on  the  dial  has  passed 
beyond  four  o'clock.  The  declining  sun  is  hidden  behind 
the  steeple,  and  throws  its  shadow  straight  across  the 
street,  so  that  my  chamber  is  darkened,  as  with  a  cloud. 
Around  the  church-door  all  is  solitude,  and  an  impene- 
trable obscurity  beyond  the  threshold.  A  commotion  is 
heard.  The  seats  are  slammed  down,  and  the  pew-doors 
thrown  back,  —  a  multitude  of  feet  are  trampling  along  the 
unseen  aisles,  —  and  the  congregation  bursts  suddenly 
through  the  portal.  Foremost,  scampers  a  rabble  of  boys, 
behind  whom  moves  a  dense  and  dark  phalanx  of  grown 
men,  and  lastly,  a  crowd  of  females,  with  young  children, 
and  a  few  scattered  husbands.  This  instantaneous  out- 
break of  life  into  loneliness  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  scenes 
of  the  day.  Some  of  the  good  people  are  rubbing  their 
eyes,  thereby  intimating  that  they  have  been  wrapped,  as 
it  were,  in  a  sort  of  holy  trance,  by  the  fervor  of  their 
devotion.  There  is  a  young  man,  a  third-rate  coxcomb, 
whose  first  care  is  always  to  flourish  a  white  handker- 
chief, and  brush  the  seat  of  a  tight  pair  of  black  silk  pan- 
taloons, which  shine  as  if  varnished.  They  must  have 
been  made  of  the  stuff  called  "  everlasting,"  or  perhaps  of 
the  same  piece  as  Christian's  garments  in  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  for  he  put  them  on  two  summers  ago,  and  has 
not  yet  worn  the  gloss  off.  I  have  taken  a  great  liking 


SUNDAY    AT    HOME.  31 

to  those  black  silk  pantaloons.  But,  now,  with  nods  and 
greetings  among  friends,  each  matron  takes  her  husband's 
arm,  and  paces  gravely  homeward,  while  the  girls  also 
flutter  away,  after  arranging  sunset  walks  with  their 
favored  bachelors.  The  Sabbath  eve  is  the  eve  of  love. 
At  length,  the  whole  congregation  is  dispersed.  No; 
here,  with  faces  as  glossy  as  black  satin,  come  two  sable 
ladies  and  a  sable  gentleman,  and  close  in  their  rear  the 
minister,  who  softens  his  severe  visage,  and  bestows  a 
kind  word  on  each.  Poor  souls  !  To  them  the  most 
captivating  picture  of  bliss  in  heaven  is  —  "  There  we 
shall  be  white  !  " 

All  is  solitude  again.  But,  hark  !  —  a  broken  warbling 
of  voices,  and  now,  attuning  its  grandeur  to  their  sweet- 
ness, a  stately  peal  of  the  organ.  Who  are  the  choris- 
ters ?  Let  me  dream  that  the  angels,  who  came  down 
from  heaven,  this  blessed  morn,  to  blend  themselves  with 
the  worship  of  the  truly  good,  are  playing  and  singing 
their  farewell  to  the  earth.  On  the  wings  of  that  rich 
melody  they  were  borne  upward. 

This,  gentle  reader,  is  merely  a  flight  of  poetry.  A  few 
of  the  singing  men  and  singing  women  had  lingered  behind 
their  fellows,  and  raised  their  voices  fitfully,  and  blew 
a  careless  note  upon  the  organ.  Yet,  it  lifted  my  soul 
higher  than  all  their  former  strains.  They  are  gone,  — 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  music,  —  and  the  gray  sexton  is 
just  closing  the  portal.  For  six  days  more,  there  will  be 
no  face  of  man  in  the  pews,  and  aisles,  and  galleries,  nor 
a  vbice  in  the  pulpit,  nor  music  in  the  choir.  Was  it 
worth  while  to  rear  this  massive  edifice,  to  be  a  desert  in 
the  heart  of  the  town,  and  populous  only  for  a  few  hours 
of  each  seventh  day  ?  O,  but  the  church  is  a  symbol  of 
religion !  May  its  site,  which  was  consecrated  on  the 
day  when  the  first  tree  was  felled,  be  kept  holy  forever, 


32 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


a  spot  of  solitude  and  peace,  amid  the  trouble  and  vanity 
of  our  week-day  world  !  There  is  a  moral,  and  a  religion 
too,  even  in  the  silent  walls.  And  may  the  steeple  still 
point  heavenward,  and  be  decked  with  the  hallowed  sun- 
shine of  the  Sabbath  morn ! 


THE  WEDDING  KNELL. 

|HERE  is  a  certain  church  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  which  I  have  always  regarded  with  pe- 

culiar  interest,  on  account  of  a  marriage  there 

solemnized,  under  very  singular  circumstances,  in  my 
grandmother's  girlhood.  That  venerable  lady  chanced 
to  be  a  spectator  of  the  scene,  and  ever  after  made  it  her 
favorite  narrative.  Whether  the  edifice  now  standing  on 
the  same  site  be  the  identical  one  to  which  she  referred, 
I  am  not  antiquarian  enough  to  know ;  nor  would  it  be 
worth  while  to  correct  myself,  perhaps,  of  an  agreeable 
error,  by  reading  the  date  of  its  erection  on  the  tablet 
over  the  door.  It  is  a  stately  church,  surrounded  by  an 
enclosure  of  the  loveliest  green,  within  which  appear 
urns,  pillars,  obelisks,  and  other  forms  of  monumental 
marble,  the  tributes  of  private  affection,  or  more  splendid 
memorials  of  historic  dust.  With  such  a  place,  though 
the  tumult  of  the  city  rolls  beneath  its  tower,  one  would 
be  willing  to  connect  some  legendary  interest. 

The  marriage  might  be  considered  as  the  result  of  an. 
early  engagement,  though  there  had  been  two  interme- 
diate weddings  on  the  lady's  part,  and  forty  years  of 
celibacy  on  that  of  the  gentleman.  At  sixty-five,  Mr. 
Ellenwood  was  a  shy,  but  not  quite  a  secluded  man; 
selfish,  like  all  men  who  brood  over  their  own  hearts, 
2*  0 


34  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

yet  manifesting,  on  rare  occasions,  a  vein  of  generous 
sentiment ;  a  scholar,  throughout  life,  though  always  an 
indolent  one,  because  his  studies  had  no  definite  object, 
either  of  public  advantage  or  personal  ambition ;  a  gen- 
tleman, high  bred  and  fastidiously  delicate,  yet  sometimes 
requiring  a  considerable  relaxation,  in  his  behalf,  of  the 
common  rules  of  society.  In  truth,  there  were  so  many 
anomalies  in  his  character,  and,  though  shrinking  with 
diseased  sensibility  from  public  notice,  it  had  been  his 
fatality  so  often  to  become  the  topic  of  the  day,  by  some 
wild  eccentricity  of  conduct,  that  people  searched  his 
lineage  for  an  hereditary  taint  of  insanity.  But  there 
was  no  need  of  this.  His  caprices  had  their  origin  in 
a  mind  that  lacked  the  support  of  an  engrossing  purpose, 
and  in  feelings  that  preyed  upon  themselves,  for  want 
of  other  food.  If  he  were  mad,  it  was  the  conse- 
quence, and  not  the  cause,  of  an  aimless  and  abortive 
life. 

The  widow  was  as  complete  a  contrast  to  her  third 
bridegroom,  in  everything  but  age,  as  can  well  be  con- 
ceived. Compelled  to  relinquish  her  first  engagement, 
she  had  been  united  to  a  man  of  twice  her  own  years, 
to  whom  she  became  an  exemplary  wife,  and  by  whose 
death  she  was  left  in  possession  of  a  splendid  fortune. 
A  Southern  gentleman,  considerably  younger  than  her- 
self, succeeded  to  her  hand,  and  carried  her  to  Charleston, 
where,  after  many  uncomfortable  years,  she  found  herself 
again  a  widow.  It  would  have  been  singular,  if  any 
uncommon  delicacy  of  feeling  had  survived  through  such 
a  life  as  Mrs.  Dabney's  ;  it  could  not  but  be  crushed  and 
killed  by  her  early  disappointment,  the  cold  duty  of  her 
first  marriage,  the  dislocation  of  the  heart's  principles, 
consequent  on  a  second  union,  and  the  unkindness  of  her 
Southern  husband,  which  had  inevitably  driven  her  to 


THE    WEDDING    KNELL.  35 

connect  the  idea  of  his  death  with  that  of  her  comfort. 
To  be  brief,  she  was  that  wisest,  but  unloveliest  variety 
of  woman,  a  philosopher,  bearing  troubles  of  the  heart 
with  equanimity,  dispensing  with  all  that  should  have 
been  her  happiness,  and  making  the  best  of  what  re- 
mained. Sage  in  most  matters,  the  widow  was  perhaps 
the  more  amiable,  for  the  one  frailty  that  made  her  ridicu- 
lous. Being  childless,  she  could  not  remain  beautiful  by 
proxy,  ui  the  person  of  a  daughter ;  she  therefore  refused 
to  grow  old  and  ugly,  on  any  consideration ;  she  strug- 
gled with  Time,  and  held  fast  her  roses  in  spite  of  him, 
till  the  venerable  thief  appeared  to  have  relinquished  the 
spoil,  as  not  worth  the  trouble  of  acquiring  it. 

The  approaching  marriage  of  this  woman  of  the  world, 
with  such  an  unworldly  man  as  Mr.  Ellenwood,  was  an- 
nounced soon  after  Mrs.  Dabney's  return  to  her  native 
city.  Superficial  observers,  and  deeper  ones,  seemed  to 
concur  in  supposing  that  the  lady  must  have  borne  no 
inactive  part  in  arranging  the  affair;  there  were  con- 
siderations of  expediency,  which  she  would  be  far  more 
likely  to  appreciate  than  Mr.  Ellenwood  ;  and  there  was 
just  the  specious  phantom  of  sentiment  and  romance,  iu 
this  late  union  of  two  early  lovers,  which  sometimes 
makes  a  fool  of  a  woman,  who  has  lost  her  true  feelings 
among  the  accidents  of  life.  All  the  wonder  was,  how 
the  gentleman,  with  his  lack  of  worldly  wisdom,  and 
agonizing  consciousness  of  ridicule,  could  have  been  in- 
duced to  take  a  measure  at  once  so  prudent  and  so 
laughable.  But  while  people  talked,  the  wedding-day 
arrived.  The  ceremony  was  to  be  solemnized  according 
to  the  Episcopalian  forms,  and  in  open  church,  with  a 
degree  of  publicity  that  attracted  many  spectators,  who 
occupied  the  front  seats  of  the  galleries,  and  the  pews 
near  the  altar  and  along  the  broad  aisle.  It  had  been 


36  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

arranged,  or  possibly  it  was  the  custom  of  the  day,  that 
the  parties  should  proceed  separately  to  church.  By 
some  accident,  the  bridegroom  was  a  little  less  punctual 
than  the  widow  and  her  bridal  attendants ;  with  whose 
arrival,  after  this  tedious,  but  necessary  preface,  the 
action  of  our  tale  may  be  said  to  commence. 

The  clumsy  wheels  of  several  old-fashioned  coaches 
were  heard,  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies,  composing 
the  bridal  party,  came  through  the  church-door,  with 
the  sudden  and  gladsome  effect  of  a  burst  of  sunshine. 
The  whole  group,  except  the  principal  figure,  was  made 
up  of  youth  and  gayety.  As  they  streamed  up  the  broad 
aisle,  while  the  pews  and  pillars  seemed  to  brighten  on 
either  side,  their  steps  w»re  as  buoyant  as  if  they  mistook 
the  church  for  a  ballroom,  and  were  ready  to  dance  hand 
in  hand  to  the  altar.  So  brilliant  was  the  spectacle,  that 
few  took  notice  of  a  singular  phenomenon  that  had 
marked  its  entrance.  At  the  moment  when  the  bride's 
foot  touched  the  threshold,  the  bell  swung  heavily  in  the 
tower  above  her,  and  sent  forth  its  deepest  knell.  The 
vibrations  died  away  and  returned,  with  prolonged  solem- 
nity, as  she  entered  the  body  of  the  church. 

"  Good  heavens !  what  an  omen !  "  whispered  a  young 
lady  to  her  lover. 

"On  my  hono»,"  replied  the  gentleman,  "I  believe 
the  bell  has  the  good  taste  to  toll  of  its  own  accord. 
What  has  she  to  do  with  weddings  ?  If  you,  dearest 
Julia,  were  approaching  the  altar,  the  bell  would  ring 
out  its  merriest  peal.  It  has  only  a  funeral  knell  for 
her." 

The  bride,  and  most  of  her  company,  had  been 
too  much  occupied  with  the  bustle  of  entrance,  to 
hear  the  first  boding  stroke  of  the  bell,  or  at  least  to 
reflect  on  the  singularity  of  such  a  welcome  to  the 


THE   WEDDING    KNELL.  37 

altar.  They  therefore  continued  to  advance,  with  un- 
diminished  gayety.  The  gorgeous  dresses  of  the  time, 
the  crimson  velvet  coats,  the  gold-laced  hats,  the  hoop 
petticoats,  the  silk,  satin,  brocade,  and  embroidery,  the 
buckles,  canes,  and  swords,  all  displayed  to  the  best 
advantage  on  persons  .suited  to  such  finery,  made  the 
group  appear  more  like  a  bright-colored  picture  than 
anything  real.  But  by  what  perversity  of  taste  had  the 
artist  represented  his  principal  figure  as  so  wrinkled 
and  decayed,  while  yet  he  had  decked  her  out  in  the 
brightest  splendor  of  attire,  as  if  the  loveliest  maiden 
had  suddenly  withered  into  age,  and  become  a  moral 
to  the  beautiful  around  her !  On  they  went,  however, 
and  had  glittered  along  about  a  third  of  the  aisle,  when 
another  stroke  of  the  bell  seemed  to  fill  the  church 
with  a  visible  gloom,  dimming  and  obscuring  the  bright 
pageant,  till  it  shone  forth  again  as  from  a  mist. 

This  time  the  party  wavered,  stopped,  and  huddled 
closer  together,  while  a  slight  scream  was  heard  from 
some  of  the  ladies,  and  a  confused  whispering  among 
the  gentlemen.  Thus  tossing  to  and  fro,  they  might 
have  been  fancifully  compared  to  a  splendid  bunch 
of  flowers,  suddenly  shaken  by  a  puff  of  wind,  which 
threatened  to  scatter  the  leaves  of  an  old,  brown, 
withered  rose,  on  the  same  stalk  with  two  dewy  buds ; 
such  being  the  emblem  of  the  widow  between  her  fair 
young  bridemaids.  But  her  heroism  was  admirable. 
She  had  started  with  an  irrepressible  shudder,  as  if 
the  stroke  of  the  bell  had  fallen  directly  on  her  heart ; 
then,  recovering  herself,  while  her  attendants  were 
yet  in  dismay,  she  took  the  lead,  and  paced  calmly 
up  the  aisle.  The  bell  continued  to  swing,  strike,  and 
vibrate,  with  the  same  doleful  regularity,  as  when  a 
corpse  is  on  its  way  to  the  tomb." 


88  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"My  young  friends  here  have  their  nerves  a  little 
shaken,"  said  the  widow,  with  a  smile,  to  the  clergy- 
man at  the  altar.  "But  so  many  weddings  have  been 
ushered  in  with  the  merriest  peal  of  the  bells,  and  yet 
turned  out  unhappily,  that  I  shall  hope  for  better  for- 
tune under  such  different  auspices." 

"  Madam,"  answered  the  rector,  in  great  perplexity, 
"  this  strange  occurrence  brings  to  my  mind  a  marriage 
sermon  of  the  famous  Bishop  Taylor,  wherein  he  min- 
gles so  many  thoughts  of  mortality  and  future  woe,  that, 
to  speak  somewhat  after  his  own  rich  style,  he  seems  to 
hang  the  bridal  chamber  in  black,  and  cut  the  wedding 
garment  out  of  a  coffin  pall.  And  it  has  been  the  cus- 
tom of  divers  nations  to  infuse  something  of  sadness 
into  their  marriage  ceremonies;  so  to  keep  death  in 
mind,  while  contracting  that  engagement  which  is  life's 
chiefest  business.  Thus  we  may  draw  a  sad  but  profita- 
ble moral  from  this, funeral  knell." 

But,  though  the  clergyman  might  have  given  his 
moral  even  a  keener  point,  he  did  not  fail  to  despatch 
an  attendant  to  inquire  into  the  mystery,  and  stop  those 
sounds,  so  dismally  appropriate  to  such  a  marriage.  A 
brief  space  elapsed,  during  which  the  silence  was  bro- 
ken only  by  whispers,  and  a  few  suppressed  titterings, 
among  the  wedding  party  and  the  spectators,  who,  after 
the  first  shock,  were  disposed  to  draw  an  ill-natured 
merriment  from  the  affair.  The  young  have  less  charity 
for  aged  follies  than  the  old  for  those  of  youth.  The 
widow's  glance  was  observed  to  wander,  for  an  instant, 
towards  a  window  of  the  church,  as  if  searching  for  the 
time-worn  marble  that  she  had  dedicated  to  her  first 
husband;  then  her  eyelids  dropped  over  their  faded 
orbs,  and  her  thoughts  were  drawn  irresistibly  to  an- 
other  grave.  Two  buried  men,  with  a  voice  at  her  ear, 


THE   WEDDING   KNELL.  39 

and  a  cry  afar  off,  were  calling  her  to  lie  down  besidg 
them.  Perhaps,  with  momentary  truth  of  feeling,  she 
thought  how  much  happier  had  been  her  fate,  if,  after 
years  of  bliss,  the  bell  were  now  tolling  for  her  funeral, 
and  she  were  followed  to  the  grave  by  the  old  affection 
of  her  earliest  lover,  long  her  husband.  But  why  had 
she  returned  to  him,  when  their  cold  hearts  shrank  from 
each  other's  embrace  ? 

Still  the  death-bell  tolled  so  mournfully,  that  the 
sunshine  seemed  to  fade  in  the  air.  A  whisper,  com- 
municated from  those  who  stood  nearest  the  windows, 
now  spread  through  the  church ;  a  hearse,  with  a  train 
of  several  coaches,  was  creeping  along  the  street,  con- 
veying some  dead  man  to  the  churchyard,  while  the 
bride  awaited  a  living  one  at  the  altar.  Immediately 
after,  the  footsteps  of  the  bridegroom  and  his  friends 
were  heard  at  the  door.  The  widow  looked  down  the 
aisle,  and  clinched  the  arm  of  one  of  her  bridemaids  in 
her  bony  hand,  with  such  unconscious  violence,  that  the 
fair  girl  trembled. 

"  You  frighten  me,  my  dear  madam ! "  cried  she. 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,  my  dear,  nothing,"  said  the  widow;  then, 
whispering  close  to  her  ear,  "  There  is  a  foolish  fancy, 
that  I  cannot  get  rid  of.  I  am  expecting  my  bride- 
groom to  come  into  the  church,  with  my  first  two  hus- 
bands for  groomsmen  ! " 

"  Look,  look  !  "  screamed  the  bridemaid.  "  What  is 
here  ?  The  funeral !  " 

As  she  spoke,  a  dark  procession  paced  into  the  church. 
First  came  an  old  man  and  woman,  like  chief  mourners 
at  a  funeral,  attired  from  head  to  foot  in  the  deepest 
black,  all  but  their  pale  features  and  hoary  hair;  he 
leaning  on  a  staff,  and  supporting  her  decrepit  form 


40  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

with  his  nerveless  arm.  Behind,  appeared  another,  and 
another  pair,  as  aged,  as  black,  and  mournful  as  the 
first.  As  they  drew  near,  the  widow  recognized  in 
every  face  some  trait  of  former  friends,  long  forgotten, 
but  now  returning,  as  if  from  their  old  graves,  to  warn 
her  to  prepare  a  shroud ;  or,  with  purpose  almost 
as  unwelcome,  to  exhibit  their  wrinkles  and  infirmity, 
and  claim  her  as  their  companion  by  the  tokens  of  her 
own  decay.  Many  a  merry  night  had  she  danced  with 
them,  in  youth.  And  now,  in  joyless  age,  she  felt  that 
some  withered  partner  should  request  her  hand,  and  all 
unite,  in  a  dance  of  death,  to  the  music  of  the  funeral 
beU. 

While  these  aged  mourners  were  passing  up  the  aisle, 
it  was  observed,  that,  from  pew  to  pew,  the  spectators 
shuddered  with  irrepressible  awe,  as  some  object  hitherto 
concealed  by  the  intervening  figures  came  full  in  sight. 
Many  turned  away  their  faces ;  others  kept  a  fixed  and 
rigid  stare;  and  a  young  girl  giggled  hysterically,  and 
fainted  with  the  laughter  on  her  lips.  When  the  spectral 
procession  approached  the  altar,  each  couple  separated, 
and  slowly  diverged,  till,  in  the  centre,  appeared  a  form, 
that  had  been  worthily  ushered  in  with  all  this  gloomy 
pomp,  the  death  knell,  and  the  funeral.  It  was  the 
bridegroom  in  his  shroud  ! 

No  garb  but  that  of  the  grave  could  have  befitted  such 
a  death-like  aspect ;  the  eyes,  indeed,  had  the  wild  gleam 
of  a  sepulchral  lamp ;  all  else  was  fixed  in  the  stern  calm- 
ness which  old  men  wear  in  the  cofiin.  The  corpse  stood 
motionless,  but  addressed  the  widow  in  accents  that 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  clang  of  the  bell,  which  fell  heav- 
ily on  the  air  while  he  spoke. 

"  Come,  my  bride  !  "  said  those  pale  lips,  "  the  hearse 
is  ready.  The  sexton  stands  waiting  for  us  at  the  door 


THE   WEDDING   KNELL.  41 

of  the  tomb.  Let  us  be  married;  and  then  to  our 
coffins !  " 

How  shall  the  widow's  horror  be  represented  ?  It 
gave  her  the  ghastliness  of  a  dead  man's  bride.  Her 
youthful  friends  stood  apart,  shuddering  at  the  mourners, 
the  shrouded  bridegroom,  and  herself;  the  whole  scene 
expressed,  by  the  strongest  imagery,  the  vain  struggle  of 
the  gilded  vanities  of  this  world,  when  opposed  to  age, 
infirmity,  sorrow,  and  death.  The  awe-struck  silence  was 
first  broken  by  the  clergyman. 

"  Mr.  Ellenwood,"  said  he,  soothingly,  yet  with  some- 
what of  authority,  "  you  are  not  well.  Your  mind  has 
been  agitated  by  the  unusual  circumstances  in  which  you 
are  placed.  The  ceremony  must  be  deferred.  As  an  old 
friend,  let  me  entreat  you  to  return  home." 

"  Home  !  yes ;  but  not  without  my  bride,"  answered 
he,  in  the  same  hollow  accents.  "  You  deem  this  mock- 
ery, perhaps  madness.  Had  I  bedizened  my  aged  and 
broken  frame  with  scarlet  and  embroidery,  —  had  I  forced 
my  withered  lips  to  smile  at  my  dead  heart,  — that  might 
have  been  mockery,  or  madness.  But  now,  let  young 
and  old  declare,  which  of  us  has  come  hither  without  a 
wedding  garment,  the  bridegroom  or  the  bride  !  " 

He  stepped  forward  at  a  ghostly  pace,  and  stood 
beside  the  widow,  contrasting  the  awful  simplicity  of  his 
shroud  with  the  glare  and  glitter  in  which  she  had  ar- 
rayed herself  for  this  unhappy  scene.  None,  that  beheld 
them,  could  deny  the  terrible  strength  of  the  moral  which 
his  disordered  intellect  had  contrived  to  draw. 

"  Cruel !  cruel !  "  groaned  the  heart-stricken  bride. 

"  Cruel !  "  repeated  he  ;  then  losing  his  death-like 
composure  in  a  wild  bitterness,  "  Heaven  judge  which 
of  us  has  been  cruel  to  the  other !  In  youth,  you  de- 
prived me  of  my  happiness,  my  hopes,  my  aims ;  you  took 


42  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

away  all  the  substance  of  my  life,  and  made  it  a  dream, 
without  reality  enough  even  to  grieve  at,  —  with  only 
a  pervading  gloom,  through  which  1  walked  wearily, 
and  cared  not  whither.  But  after  forty  years,  when  I 
have  built  my  tomb,  and  would  not  give  up  the  thought 
of  resting  there,  —  no,  not  for  such  a  life  as  we  once  pic- 
tured, —  you  call  me  to  the  altar.  At  your  summons  I 
am  here.  But  other  husbands  have  enjoyed  your  youth, 
your  beauty,  your  warmth  of  heart,  and  all  that  could  be 
termed  your  life.  What  is  there  for  me  but  your  decay 
and  death  ?  And  therefore  I  have  bidden  these  funeral 
friends,  and  bespoken  the  sexton's  deepest  knell,  and  am 
come,  in  my  shroud,  to  wed  you,  as  with  a  burial  service, 
that  we  may  join  our  hands  at  the  door  of  the  sepulchre, 
and  enter  it  together." 

It  was  not  frenzy;  it  was  not  merely  the  drunken- 
ness of  strong  emotion,  in  a  heart  unused  to  it,  that  now 
wrought  upon  the  bride.  The  stern  lesson  of  the  day 
had  done  its  work  ;  her  worldliness  was  gone.  She 
seized  the  bridegroom's  hand. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  she.  "  Let  us  wed,  even  at  the  door 
of  the  sepulchre  !  My  life  has  gone  in  vanity  and  empti- 
ness. But,  at  its  close,  there  is  one  true  feeling.  It  has 
made  me  what  I  was  in  youth ;  it  makes  me  worthy  01 
you.  Time  is  no  more  for  both  of  us.  Let  us  wed  for 
eternity ! " 

With  a  long  and  deep  regard,  the  bridegroom  looked 
into  her  eyes,  while  a  tear  was  gathering  in  his  own. 
How  strange  that  gush  of  human  feeling  from  the  frozen 
bosom  of  a  corpse !  He  wiped  away  the  tear  even  with 
his  shroud. 

"  Beloved  of  my  youth,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  wild. 
The  despair  of  my  whole  lifetime  had  returned  at  once, 
and  maddened  me.  Forgive  ;  and  be  forgiven.  Yes  ;  it 


THE    WEDDING    KNELL.  43 

is  evening  with  us  now ;  and  we  have  realized  none  of 
our  morning  dreams  of  happiness.  But  let  us  join  our 
hands  before  the  altar,  as  lovers  whom  adverse  circum- 
stances have  separated  through  life,  yet  who  meet  again 
as  they  are  leaving  it,  and  find  their  earthly  affection 
changed  into  something  holy  as  religion.  And  what  is 
Time,  to  the  married  of  Eternity  ?  " 

Amid  the  tears  of  many,  and  a  swell  of  exalted  senti- 
ment, in  those  who  felt  aright,  was  solemnized  the  union 
of  two  immortal  souls.  The  train  of  withered  mourners, 
the  hoary  bridegroom  in  his  shroud,  the  pale  features  of 
the  aged  bride,  and  the  death-bell  tolling  through  the 
whole,  till  its  deep  voice  overpowered  the  marriage  words, 
all  marked  the  funeral  of  earthly  hopes.  But  as  the 
ceremony  proceeded,  the  organ,  as  if  stirred  by  the  sym- 
pathies of  this  impressive  scene,  poured  forth  an  anthem, 
first  mingling  with  the  dismal  knell,  then  rising  to  a  lof- 
tier strain,  till  the  soul  looked  down  upon  its  woe.  And 
when  the  awful  rite  was  finished,  and,  with  cold  hand  in 
cold  hand,  the  Married  of  Eternity  withdrew,  the  organ's 
peal  of  solemn  triumph  drowned  the  Wedding  Knell. 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL. 

A  PARABLE.* 

JHE  sexton  stood  in  the  porch  of  Milford  meeting- 
house, pulling  busily  at  the  bell-rope.  The  old 
of  the  village  came  stooping  along  the 
street.  Children  with  bright  faces  tripped  merrily  beside 
their  parents,  or  mimicked  a  graver  gait,  in  the  conscious 
dignity  of  their  Sunday  clothes.  Spruce  bachelors  looked 
sidelong  at  the  pretty  maidens,  and  fancied  that  the  Sabbath 
sunshine  made  them  prettier  than  on  week-days.  When 
the  throng  had  mostly  streamed  into  the  porch,  the  sexton 
began  to  toll  the  bell,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Hooper's  door.  The  first  glimpse  of  the  clergyman's 
figure  was  the  signal  for  the  bell  to  cease  its  summons. 

"  But  what  has  good  Parson  Hooper  got  upon  his 
face  ?  "  cried  the  sexton,  in  astonishment. 

All  within  hearing  immediately  turned  about,  and  be- 

*  Another  clergyman  in  New  England,  Mr.  Joseph  Moody, 
of  York,  Maine,  who  died  about  eighty  years  since,  made  him- 
self remarkable  by  the  same  eccentricity  that  is  here  related  of 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Hooper.  In  his  case,  however,  the  symbol 
had  a  different  import.  In  early  life  he  had  accidentally  killed 
a  beloved  friend ;  and  from  that  day  till  the  hour  of  his  own 
death,  he  hid  his  face  from  men. 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  45 

held  the  semblance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  pacing  slowly  his 
meditative  way  towards  the  meeting-house.  With  one 
accord  they  started,  expressing  more  wonder  than  if  some 
strange  minister  were  coming  to  dust  the  cushions  of  Mr. 
Hooper's  pulpit. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  our  parson  ?  "  inquired  Goodman 
Gray  of  the  sexton. 

"  Of  a  certainty  it  is  good  Mr.  Hooper,"  replied  the 
sexton.  "  He  was  to  have  exchanged  pulpits  with  Parson 
Shute,  of  Westbury ;  but  Parson  Shute  sent  to  excuse 
himself  yesterday,  being  to  preach  a  funeral  sermon." 

The  cause  of  so  much  amazement  may  appear  sufficient- 
ly slight.  Mr.  Hooper,  a  gentlemanly  person,  of  about 
thirty,  though  still  a  bachelor,  was  dressed  with  due 
clerical  neatness,  as  if  a  careful  wife  had  starched  his 
band  and  brushed  the  weekly  dust  from  his  Sunday's 
garb.  There  was  but  one  thing  remarkable  in  his  ap- 
pearance. Swathed  about  his  forehead,  and  hanging 
down  over  his  face,  so  low  as  to  be  shaken  by  his  breath, 
Mr.  Hooper  had  on  a  black  veil.  On  a  nearer  view,  it 
seemed  to  consist  of  two  folds  of  crape,  which  entirely 
concealed  his  features,  except  the  mouth  and  chin,  but 
probably  did  not  intercept  his  sight,  further  than  to  give 
a  darkened  aspect  to  all  living  and  inanimate  things. 
With  this  gloomy  shade  before  him,  good  Mr.  Hooper 
walked  onward,  at  a  slow  and  quiet  pace,  stooping  some- 
what, and  looking  on  the  ground,  as  is  customary  with 
abstracted  men,  yet  nodding  kindly  to  those  of  his  parish- 
ioners who  still  waited  on  the  meeting-house  steps.  But 
so  wouder-struck  were  they,  that  his  greeting  hardly  met 
with  a  return. 

"  I  can't  really  feel  as  if  good  Mr.  Hooper's  face  was 
behind  that  piece  of  crape,"  said  the  sexton. 

"I  don't  like  it,"  muttered  an  old  woman,  as  sho 


46  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

hobbled  into  the  meeting-house.  "  He  has  changed 
himself  into  something  awful,  only  by  hiding  his  face." 

"Our  parson  has  gone  mad!  "  cried  Goodman  Gray, 
following  him  across  the  threshold. 

A  rumor  of  some  unaccountable  phenomenon  had  pre- 
ceded Mr.  Hooper  into  the  meeting-house,  and  set  all  the 
congregation  astir.  Pew  could  refrain  from  twisting  their 
heads  towards  the  door ;  many  stood  upright,  and  turned 
directly  about ;  while  several  little  boys  clambered  upon 
the  seats,  and  came  down  again  with  a  terrible  racket. 
There  was  a  general  bustle,  a  rustling  of  the  women's 
gowns  and  shuffling  of  the  men's  feet,  greatly  at  variance 
with  that  hushed  repose  which  should  attend  the  entrance 
of  the  minister.  But  Mr.  Hooper  appeared  not  to  notice 
the  perturbation  of  his  people.  He  entered  with  an  almost 
noiseless  step,  bent  his  head  mildly  to  the  pews  on  each 
side,  and  bowed  as  he  passed  his  oldest  parishioner,  a  white- 
haired  great-grandsire,  who  occupied  an  arm-chair  in  the 
centre  of  the  aisle.  It  was  strange  to  observe  how  slowly 
this  venerable  man  became  conscious  of  something  singular 
in  the  appearance  of  his  pastor.  He  seemed  not  fully  to 
partake  of  the  prevailing  wonder,  till  Mr.  Hooper  had 
ascended  the  stairs,  and  showed  himself  in  the  pulpit, 
face  to  face  with  his  congregation,  except  for  the  black 
veil.  That  mysterious  emblem  was  never  once  withdrawn. 
It  shook  witli  his  measured  breath  as  he  gave  out  the 
psalm  ;  it  threw  its  obscurity  between  him  and  the  holy 
page,  as  he  read  the  Scriptures  ;  and  while  he  prayed,  the 
veil  lay  heavily  on  his  uplifted  countenance.  Did  he 
seek  to  hide  it  from  the  dread  Being  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressing ? 

Such  was  the  effect  of  this  simple  piece  of  crape,  that 
more  than  one  woman  of  delicate  nerves  was  forced  to 
leave  the  meeting-house.  Yet  perhaps  the  pale-faced 


THE  MINISTER'S  BLACK  VEIL.  47 

congregation  was  almost  as  fearful  a  sight  to  the  minister, 
as  his  black  veil  to  them. 

Mr.  Hooper  had  the  reputation  of  a  good  preacher,  but 
not  an  energetic  one  :  he  strove  to  win  his  people  heaven- 
ward by  mild,  persuasive  influences,  rather  than  to  drive 
them  thither  by  the  thunders  of  the  Word.  The  sermon 
which  he  now  delivered  was  marked  by  the  same  charac- 
teristics of  style  and  manner  as  the  general  series  of  his 
pulpit  oratory.  But  there  was  something,  either  in  the 
sentiment  of  the  discourse  itself,  or  in  the  imagination  of 
the  auditors,  which  made  it  greatly  the  most  powerful 
effort  that  they  had  ever  heard  from  their  pastor's  lips. 
It  was  tinged,  rather  more  darkly  than  usual,  with  the 
gentle  gloom  of  Mr.  Hooper's  temperament.  The  subject 
had  reference  to  secret  sin,  and  those  sad  mysteries  which 
we  hide  from  our  nearest  and  dearest,  and  would  fain 
conceal  from  our  own  consciousness,  even  forgetting  that 
the  Omniscient  can  detect  them.  A  subtile  power  was 
breathed  into  his  words.  Each  member  of  the  congre- 
gation, the  most  innocent  girl  and  the  man  of  hardened 
breast,  felt  as  if  the  preacher  had  crept  upon  them,  behind 
his  awful  veil,  and  discovered  their  hoarded  iniquity  of 
deed  or  thought.  Many  spread  their  clasped  hands  on 
their  bosoms.  There  was  nothing  terrible  in  what  Mr. 
Hooper  said  ;  at  least,  no  violence  ;  and  yet,  with  every 
tremor  of  his  melancholy  voice,  the  hearers  quaked.  An 
unsought  pathos  came  hand  in  hand  with  awe.  So  sensi- 
ble were  the  audience  of  some  unwonted  attribute  in  their 
minister,  that  they  longed  for  a  breath  of  wind  to  blow 
aside  the  veil,  almost  believing  that  a  stranger's  visage 
would  be  discovered,  though  the  form,  gesture,  and  voice 
were  those  of  Mr.  Hooper. 

At  the  close  of  the  services,  the  people  hurried  out 
with  indecorous  confusion,  eager  to  communicate  their 


48  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

pent-up  amazement,  and  conscious  of  lighter  spirits,  the 
moment  they  lost  sight  of  the  black  veil.  Some  gath- 
ered in  little  circles,  huddled  closely  together,  with  their 
mouths  all  whispering  in  the  centre ;  some  went  home- 
ward alone,  wrapt  in  silent  meditation;  some  talked 
loudly,  and  profaned  the  Sabbath  day  with  ostentatious 
laughter.  A  few  shook  their  sagacious  heads,  intimating 
that  they  could  penetrate  the  mystery ;  while  one  or  two 
affirmed  that  there  was  no  mystery  at  all,  but  only  that 
Mr.  Hooper's  eyes  were  so  weakened  by  the  midnight 
lamp,  as  to  require  a  shade.  After  a  brief  interval,  forth 
came  good  Mr.  Hooper  also,  in  the  rear  of  his  flock. 
Turning  his  veiled  face  from  one  group  to  another,  he 
paid  due  reverence  to  the  hoary  heads,  saluted  the  mid- 
dle aged  with  kind  dignity,  as  their  friend  and  spiritual 
guide,  greeted  the  young  with  mingled  authority  and 
love,  and  laid  his  hands  on  the  little  children's  heads  to 
bless  them.  Such  was  always  his  custom  on  the  Sabbath 
day.  Strange  and  bewildered  looks  repaid  him  for  his 
courtesy.  None,  as  on  former  occasions,  aspired  to  the 
honor  of  walking  by  their  pastor's  side.  Old  Squire 
Saunders,  doubtless  by  an  accidental  lapse  of  memory, 
neglected  to  invite  Mr.  Hooper  to  his  table,  where  the 
good  clergyman  had  been  wont  to  bless  the  food,  almost 
every  Sunday  since  his  settlement.  He  returned,  there- 
fore, to  the  parsonage,  and,  at  the  moment  of  closing  the 
door,  was  observed  to  look  back  upon  the  people,  all  of 
whom  had  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  minister.  A  sad 
smile  gleamed  faintly  from  beneath  the  black  veil,  and 
flickered  about  his  mouth,  glimmering  as  he  disappeared. 

"  How  strange,"  said  a  lady,  "  that  a  simple  black  veil, 
such  as  any  woman  might  wear  on  her  bonnet,  should 
become  such  a  terrible  thing  on  Mr.  Hooper's  face  !  " 

"  Something  must  surely  be  amiss  with  Mr.  Hooper's 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  49 

intellects,"  observed  her  husband,  the  physician  of  the 
village.  "  But  the  strangest  part  of  the  affair  is  the 
effect  of  this  vagary,  even  on  a  sober-minded  man  like 
myself.  The  black  veil,  though  it  covers  only  our  pas- 
tor's face,  throws  its  influence  over  his  whole  person, 
and  makes  him  ghost-like  from  head  to  foot.  Do  you  not 
feel  it  so  ?  " 

"  Truly  do  I,"  replied  the  lady ;  "  and  I  would  not  be 
alone  with  him  for  the  world.  I  wonder  he  is  not  afraid 
to  be  alone  with  himself !  " 

"  Men  sometimes  are  so,"  said  her  husband. 

The  afternoon  service  was  attended  with  similar  cir- 
cumstances. At  its  conclusion,  the  bell  tolled  for  the 
funeral  of  a  young  lady.  The  relatives  and  friends  were 
assembled  in  the  house,  and  the  more  distant  acquaint- 
ances stood  about  the  door,  speaking  of  the  good  quali- 
ties of  the  deceased,  when  their  talk  was  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Hooper,  still  covered  with  his 
black  veil.  It  was  now  an  appropriate  emblem.  The 
clergyman  stepped  into  the  room  where  the  corpse  was 
laid,  and  bent  over  the  coffin,  to  take  a  last  farewell  of 
his  deceased  parishioner.  As  he  stooped,  the  veil  hung 
straight  down  from  his  forehead,  so  that,  if  her  eyelids 
had  not  been  closed  forever,  the  dead  maiden  might  have 
seen  his  face.  Could  Mr.  Hooper  be  fearful  of  her 
glance,  that  he  so  hastily  caught  back  the  black  veil? 
A  person  who  watched  the  interview  between  the  dead 
and  living  scrupled  not  to  affirm,  that,  at  the  instant 
when  the  clergyman's  features  were  disclosed,  the  corpse 
had  slightly  shuddered,  rustling  the  shroud  and  muslin 
cap,  though  the  countenance  retained  the  composure  of 
death.  A  superstitious  old  woman  was  the  only  witness 
of  this  prodigy.  From  the  coffin  Mr.  Hooper  passed 
into  the  chamber  of  the  mourners,  and  thence  to  the 


50  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

head  of  the  staircase,  to  make  the  funeral  prayer.  It 
was  a  tender  and  heart-dissolving  prayer,  full  of  sorrow, 
yet  so  imbued  with  celestial  hopes,  that  the  music  of  a 
heavenly  harp,  swept  by  the  fingers  of  the  dead,  seemed 
faintly  to  be  heard  among  the  saddest  accents  of  the 
minister.  The  people  trembled,  though  they  but  darkly 
understood  him  when  he  prayed  that  they,  and  himself, 
and  all  of  mortal  race,  might  be  ready,  as  he  trusted  this 
young  maiden  had  been,  for  the  dreadful  hour  that  should 
snatch  the  veil  from  their  faces.  The  bearers  went  heav- 
ily forth,  and  the  mourners  followed,  saddening  all  the 
street,  with  the  dead  before  them,  and  Mr.  Hooper  in  his 
black  veil  behind. 

"  Why  do  you  look  back  ?  "  said  one  in  the  procession 
to  his  partner. 

"  I  had  a  fancy,"  replied  she,  "  that  the  minister  and 
the  maiden's  spirit  were  walking  hand  in  hand." 

"  And  so  had  I,  at  the  same  moment,"  said  the  other. 

That  night,  the  handsomest  couple  in  Milford  village 
•were  to  be  joined  in  wedlock.  Though  reckoned  a  mel- 
ancholy man,  Mr.  Hooper  had  a  placid  cheerfulness  for 
such  occasions,  which  often  excited  a  sympathetic  smile, 
where  livelier  merriment  would  have  been  thrown  away. 
There  was  no  quality  of  his  disposition  which  made  him 
more  beloved  than  this.  The  company  at.  the  wedding 
awaited  his  arrival  with  impatience,  trusting  that  the 
strange  awe,  which  had  gathered  over  him  throughout 
the  day,  would  now  be  dispelled.  But  such  was  not  the 
result.  When  Mr.  Hooper  came,  the  first  thing  that 
their  eyes  rested  on  was  the  same  horrible  black  veil, 
which  had  added  deeper  gloom  to  the  funeral,  and  could 
portend  nothing  but  evil  to  the  wedding.  Such  was  its 
immediate  effect  on  the  guests,  that  a  cloud  seemed  to 
have  rolled  duskily  from  beneath  the  black  crape,  and 


THE   MINISTER'S    BLACK   VEIL.  51 

dimmed  the  light  of  the  candles.  The  bridal  pair  stood 
up  before  the  minister.  But  the  bride's  cold  fingers 
quivered  in  the  tremulous  hand  of  the  bridegroom,  and 
her  death-like  paleness  caused  a  whisper  that  the  maiden 
who  had  been  buried  a  few  hours  before  was  come  from 
her  grave  to  be  married.  If  ever  another  wedding  were 
so  dismal,  it  was  that  famous  one  where  they  tolled  the 
wedding  knell.  After  performing  the  ceremony,  Mr. 
Hooper  raised  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips,  wishing  happi- 
ness to  the  new-married  couple,  in  a  strain  of  mild  pleas- 
antry that  ought  to  have  brightened  the  features  of  the 
guests,  like  a  cheerful  gleam  from  the  hearth.  At  that 
instant,  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  figure  in  the  looking- 
glass,  the  black  veil  involved  his  own  spirit  in  the  horror 
with  which  it  overwhelmed  all  others.  His  frame  shud* 
dered,  — liis  lips  grew  white,  —  he  spilt  the  untasted  wine 
upon  the  carpet,  —  and  rus'hed  forth  into  the  darkness. 
For  the  Earth,  too,  had  on  her  Black  Veil. 

The  next  day,  the  whole  village  of  Milford  talked  of 
little  else  than  Parson  Hooper's  black  veil.  That,  and 
the  mystery  concealed  behind  it,  supplied  a  topic  for  dis- 
cussion between  acquaintances  meeting  in  the  street  and 
good  women  gossiping  at  their  open  windows.  It  was 
the  first  item  of  news  that  the  tavern-keeper  told  to  his 
guests.  The  children  babbled  of  it  on  their  way  to 
school.  One  imitative  little  imp  covered  his  face  with 
an  old  black  handkerchief,  thereby  so  affrighting  his 
playmates  that  the  panic  seized  himself,  and  he  wellnigh 
lost  his  wits  by  his  own  waggery. 

It  was  remarkable  that,  of  all  the  busybodies  and  im- 
pertinent people  in  the  parish,  not  orie  ventured  to  put 
the  plain  question  to  Mr.  Hooper,  wherefore  he  did  this 
thing.  Hitherto,  whenever  there  appeared  the  slightest 
call  for  such  interference,  he  had  never  lacked  advisers, 


52  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

nor  shown  himself  averse  to  be  guided  by  their  judgment, 
If  he  erred  at  all,  it  was  by  so  painful  a  degree  of  self- 
distrust,  that  even  the  mildest  censure  would  lead  him  to 
consider  an  indifferent  action  as  a  crime.  Yet,  though 
so  well  acquainted  with  this  amiable  weakness,  no  indi- 
vidual among  his  parishioners  chose  to  make  the  black 
yeil  a  subject  of  friendly  remonstrance.  There  was  a 
feeling  of  dread,  neither  plainly  confessed  nor  carefully 
concealed,  which  caused  each  to  shift  the  responsibility 
upon  another,  till  at  length  it  was  found  expedient  to 
send  a  deputation  of  the  church,  in  order  to  deal  with 
Mr.  Hooper  about  the  mystery,  before  it  should  grow 
into  a  scandal.  Never  did  an  embassy  so  ill  discharge 
its  duties.  The  minister  received  them  with  friendly 
courtesy,  but  became  silent,  after  they  were  seated,  leav- 
ing to  his  visitors  the  whole  burden  of  introducing  their 
important  business.  The  topic,  it  might  be  supposed, 
was  obvious  enough.  There  was  the  black  veil,  swathed 
round  Mr.  Hooper's  forehead,  and  concealing  every  fea- 
ture above  his  placid  mouth,  on  which,  at  times,  they 
could  perceive  the  glimmering  of  a  melancholy  smile. 
But  that  piece  of  crape,  to  their  imagination,  seemed  to 
hang  down  before  his  heart,  the  symbol  of  a  fearful  se- 
cret between  him  and  them.  Were  the  veil  but  cast 
aside,  they  might  speak  freely  of  it,  but  not  till  then. 
Thus  they  sat  a  considerable  time,  speechless,  confused, 
and  shrinking  uneasily  from  Mr.  Hooper's  eye,  which 
they  felt  to  be  fixed  upon  them  with  an  invisible  glance. 
Finally,  the  deputies  returned  abashed  to  their  constitu- 
ents, pronouncing  the  matter  too  weighty  to  be  handled, 
except  by  a  council  of  the  churches,  if,  indeed,  it  might 
not  require  a  general  synod. 

But  there  was  one  person  in  the  village,  unappalled 
by  the  awe  with  which  the  black  veil  had  impressed  all 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  53 

beside  herself.  When  the  deputies  returned  without  an 
explanation,  or  even  venturing  to  demand  one,  she,  with 
the  calm  energy  of  her  character,  determined  to  chase 
away  the  strange  cloud  that  appeared  to  be  settling 
round  Mr.  Hooper,  every  moment  more  darkly  than 
before.  As  his  plighted  wife,  it  sbtould  be  her  privilege 
to  know  what  the  black  veil  concealed.  At  the  minister's 
first  visit,  therefore,  she  entered  upon  the  subject,  with 
a  direct  simplicity  which  made  the  task  easier  both  for 
him  and  her.  After  he  had  seated  himself,  she  fixed  her 
eyes  steadfastly  upon  the  veil,  but  ccoild  discern  nothing 
of  the  dreadful  gloom  that  had  so  overawed  the  multi- 
tude ;  it  was  but  a  double  fold  of  crape,  hanging  down 
from  his  forehead  to  his  mouth,  and  slightly  stirring  with 
his  breath. 

"  No,"  said  she  aloud,  and  smiling,  "  there  is  nothing 
terrible  in  this  piece  of  crape,  except  that  it  hides  a  face 
which  I  am  always  glad  to  look  upon.  Come,  good  sir, 
let  the  sun  shine  from  behind  the  cloud.  First  lay  aside 
your  black  veil:  then  tell  me  why  you  put  it  on." 

Mr.  Hooper's  smile  glimmered  faintly. 

"  There  is  an  hour  to  come,"  said  he,  "  when  all  of  us 
shall  cast  aside  our  veils.  Take  it  not  amiss,  beloved 
friend,  if  I  wear  this  piece  of  crape  till  then." 

"  Your  words  are  a  mystery  too,"  returned  the  young 
lady.  "  Take  away  the  veil  from  them,  at  least." 

"  Elizabeth,  I  will,"  said  he,  "  so  far  as  my  vow  may 
suffer  me.  Know,  then,  this  veil  is  a  type  and  a  symbol, 
and  I  am  bound  to  wear  it  ever,  both  in  light  and  dark- 
ness, in  solitude  and  before  the  gaze  of  multitudes,  and 
as  with  strangers,  so  with  my  familiar  friends.  No  mor- 
tal eye  will  see  it  withdrawn.  This  dismal  shade  must 
separate  me  from  the  world:  even  you,  Elizabeth,  can 
never  come  behind  it !  " 


54  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"What  grievous  affliction  hath  befallen  you,"  she 
earnestly  inquired,  "  that  you  should  thus  darken  your 
eyes  forever  ?  " 

"  If  it  be  a  sign  of  mourning,"  replied  Mr.  Hooper, 
"I,  perhaps,  like  most  other  mortals,  have  sorrows  dark 
enough  to  be  typified  by  a  black  veil." 

"  But  what  if  the  world  will  not  believe  that  it  is  the 
type  of  an  innocent  sorrow  ?  "  urged  Elizabeth.  "  Be- 
loved and  respected  as  you  are,  there  may  be  whispers, 
that  you  hide  your  face  under  the  consciousness  of  secret 
sin.  For  the  sake  of  your  holy  office,  do  away  this 
scandal !  " 

The  color  rose  into  her  cheeks  as  she  intimated  the 
nature  of  the  rumors  that  were  already  abroad  in  the 
village.  But  Mr.  Hooper's  mildness  did  not  forsake 
him.  He  even  smiled  again,  —  that  same  sad  smile, 
which  always  appeared  like  a  faint  glimmering  of  light, 
proceeding  from  the  obscurity  beneath  the  veil. 

"  If  I  hide  my  face  for  sorrow,  there  is  cause  enough," 
he  merely  replied  ;  "  and  if  I  cover  it  for  secret  sin,  what 
mortal  might  not  do  the  same  ?  " 

And  with  this  gentle,  but  unconquerable  obstinacy 
did  he  resist  all  her  entreaties.  At  length  Elizabeth  sat 
silent.  For  a  few  moments  she  appeared  lost  m  thought, 
considering,  probably,  what  new  methods  might  be  tried 
to  withdraw  her  lover  from  so  dark  a  fantasy,  which,  if 
it  had  no  other  meaning,  was  perhaps  a  symptom  of 
mental  disease.  Though  of  a  firmer  character  than  his 
own,  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  But,  in  an  in- 
stant, as  it  were,  a  new  feeling  took  the  place  of  sor- 
row :  her  eyes  were  fixed  insensibly  on  the  black  veil, 
when,  like  a  sudden  twilight  in  the  air,  its  terrors  fell 
around  her.  She  arose,  and  stood  trembling  before 
him. 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  55 

"  And  do  you  feel  it  then  at  last  ?  "  said  he,  mournfully. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  He  rushed  for- 
ward and  caught  her  arm. 

"  Have  patience  with  me,  Elizabeth !  "  cried  he,  pas- 
sionately. "Do  not  desert  me,  though  this  veil  must 
be  between  us  here  on  earth.  Be  mine,  and  hereafter 
there  shall  be  no  veil  over  my  face,  no  darkness  between 
our  souls  !  It  is  but  a  mortal  veil,  —  it  is  not  for  eter- 
nity !  O,  you  know  not  how  lonely  I  am,  and  how 
frightened,  to  be  alone  behind  my  black  veil !  Do  not 
leave  me  in  this  miserable  obscurity  forever ! " 

"Lift  the  veil  but  once,  and  look  me  in  the  face," 
said  she. 

"  Never !     It  cannot  be  !  "  replied  Mr.  Hooper. 

"  Then,  farewell !  "  said  Elizabeth. 

She  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  grasp,  and  slowly 
departed,  pausing  at  the  door,  to  give  one  long,  shud- 
dering gaze,  that  seemed  almost  to  penetrate  the  mys- 
tery of  the  black  veil.  But,  even  amid  his  grief,  'Mr. 
Hooper  smiled  to  think  that  only  a  material  emblem 
had  separated  him  from  happiness,  though  the  horrors 
which  it  shadowed  forth  must  be  drawn  darkly  between 
the  fondest  of  lovers. 

From  that  time  no  attempts  were  made  to  remove 
Mr.  Hooper's  black  veil,  or,  by  a  direct  appeal,  to  dis- 
cover the  secret  which  it  was  supposed  to  hide.  By 
persons  who  claimed  a  superiority  to  popular  prejudice, 
it  was  reckoned  merely  an  eccentric  whim,  such  as  often 
mingles  with  the  sober  actions  of  men  otherwise  rational, 
and  tinges  them  all  with  its  own  semblance  of  insanity. 
But  with  the  multitude,  good  Mr.  Hooper  was  irrepara- 
bly a  bugbear.  He  could  not  walk  the  street  with  any 
peace  of  mind,  so  conscious  was  he  that  the  gentle  and 


56  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

timid  would  turn  aside  to  avoid  him,  and  that  others 
would  make  it  a  point  of  hardihood  to  throw  themselves 
in  his  way.  The  impertinence  of  the  latter  class  com- 
pelled him  to  give  up  his  customary  walk,  at  sunset,  to 
the  burial-ground;  for  when  he  leaned  pensively  over 
the  gate,  there  would  always  be  faces  behind  the  grave- 
stones, peeping  at  his  black  veil.  A  fable  went  the 
rounds,  that  the  stare  of  the  dead  people  drove  him 
thence.  It  grieved  him,  to  the  very  depth  of  his  kind 
heart,  to  observe  how  the  children  fled  from  his  ap- 
proach, breaking  up  their  merriest  sports,  while  his 
melancholy  figure  was  yet  afar  off.  Their  instinctive 
dread  caused  him  to  feel,  more  strongly  than  aught 
else,  that  a  preternatural  horror  was  interwoven  with 
the  threads  of  the  black  crape.  In  truth,  his  own  an- 
tipathy to  the  veil  was  known  to  be  so  great,  that  he 
never  willingly  passed  before  a  mirror,  nor  stooped  to 
drink  at  a  still  fountain,  lest,  in  its  peaceful  bosom,  he 
should  be  affrighted  by  himself.  This  was  what  gave 
plausibility  to  the  whispers,  that  Mr.  Hooper's  con- 
science tortured  him  for  some  great  crime  too  horrible 
to  be  entirely  concealed,  or  otherwise  than  so  obscurely 
intimated.  Thus,  from  beneath  the  black  veil,  there 
rolled  a  cloud  into  the  sunshine,  an  ambiguity  of  sin 
or  sorrow,  which  enveloped  the  poor  minister,  so  that 
love  or  sympathy  could  never  reach  him.  It  was  said, 
that  ghost  and  fiend  consorted  with  him  there.  With 
self-shudderings  and  outward  terrors,  he  walked  con- 
tinually in  its  shadow,  groping  darkly  within  his  own 
soul,  or  gazing  through  a  medium  that  saddened  the 
whole  world.  Even  the  lawless  wind,  it  was  believed, 
respected  his  dreadful  secret,  and  never  blew  aside  the 
veil.  But  still  good  Mr.  Hooper  sadly  smiled  at  the 
pale  visages  of  the  worldly  throng  as  he  passed  by. 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  57 

Among  all  its  bad  influences,  the  black  veil  had  the 
one  desirable  effect,  of  making  its  wearer  a  very  efficient 
clergyman.  By  the.  aid  of  his  mysterious  emblem  — 
for  there  was  no  other  apparent  cause  —  he  became  a 
man  of  awful  power,  over  souls  that  were  in  agony  for 
sin.  His  converts  always  regarded  him  with  a  dread 
peculiar  to  themselves,  affirming,  though  but  figura- 
tivejy,  that,  before  he  brought  them  to  celestial  light, 
they  had  been  with  him  behind  the  black  veil.  Its 
gloom,  indeed,  enabled  him  to  sympathize  with  all  dark 
affections.  Dying  sinners  cried  aloud  for  Mr.  Hooper, 
and  would  not  yield  their  breath  till  he  appeared; 
though  ever,  as  he  stooped  to  whisper  consolation,  they 
shuddered  at  the  veiled  face  so  near  their  own.  Such 
were  the  terrors  of  the  black  veil,  even  when  Death  had 
bared  his  visage  !'  Strangers  came  long  distances  to 
attend  service  at  his  church,  with  the  mere  idle  pur- 
pose of  gazing  at  his  figure,  because  it  was  forbidden 
them  to  behold  his  face.  But  many  were  made  to  quake 
ere  they  departed !  Once,  during  Governor  Belcher's 
administration,  Mr.  Hooper  was  appointed  to  preach  the 
election  sermon.  Covered  with  his  black  veil,  he  stood 
before  the  chief  magistrate,  the  council,  and  the  rep- 
resentatives, and  wrought  so  deep  an  impression,  that 
the  legislative  measures  of  th'at  year  were  characterized 
by  all  the  gloom  and  piety  of  our  earliest  ancestral 
s\v;iy. 

In  this  manner  Mr.  Hooper  spent  a  long  life,  irre- 
proachable in  outward  act,  yet  shrouded  in  dismal  sus- 
picions; kind  and  loving,  though  unloved,  and  dimly 
feared ;  a  man  apart  from  men,  shunned  in  their  health 
and  joy,  but  ever  summoned  to  their  aid  in  mortal  an- 
guish. As  years  wore  on,  shedding  their  snows  above 
tis  sable  veil,  he  acquired  a  name  throughout  the  Mew 
3» 


58  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

England  churches,  and  they  called  him  Father  Hooper. 
Nearly  all  his  parishioners,  who  were  of  mature  age 
when  he  was  settled,  had  been  borne  away  by  many  a 
funeral :  he  had  one  congregation  in  the  church,  and  a 
more  crowded  one  in  the  churchyard ;  and  having 
wrought  so  late  into  the  evening,  and  done  his  work 
so  well,  it  was  now  good  Father  Hooper's  turn  to 
rest. 

Several  persons  were  visible  by  the  shaded  candle- 
light, in  the  death-chamber  of  the  old  clergyman. 
Natural  connections  he  had  none.  But  there  was  the 
decorously  grave,  though  unmoved  physician,  seeking 
only  to  mitigate  the  last  pangs  of  the  patient  whom  he 
could  not  save.  There  were  the  deacons,  and  other 
eminently  pious  members  of  his  church.  There,  also, 
was  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark,  of  Westbury,  a,  young 
and  zealous  divine,  who  had  ridden  in  haste  to  pray  by 
the  bedside  of  the  expiring  minister.  There  was  the 
nurse,  no  hired  handmaiden  of  death,  but  one  whose 
calm  affection  had  endured  thus  long  in  secrecy,  in 
solitude,  amid  the  chill  of  age,  and  would  not  perish, 
even  at  the  dying  hour.  Who,  but  Elizabeth!  And 
there  lay  the  hoary  head  of  good  Father  Hooper  upon 
the  death-pillow,  with  the  black  veil  still  swathed  about 
his  brow,  and  reaching  down  over  his  face,  so  that  each 
more  difficult  gasp  of  his  faint  breath  caused  it  to  stir. 
All  through  life  that  piece  of  crape  had  hung  between 
him  and  the  world :  it  had  separated  him  from  cheerful 
brotherhood  and  woman's  love,  and  kept  him  in  that 
saddest  of  all  prisons,  his  own  heart ;  and  still  it  lay 
upon  his  face,,  as  if  to  deepen  the  gloom  of  his  dark- 
some chamber,  and  shade  him  from  the  sunshine  of 
eternity. 

For  some  time  previous,  his  mind  had  been  confused, 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  59 

wavering  doubtfully  between  the  past  and  the  present, 
and  hovering  forward,  as  it  were,  at  intervals,  into  the 
indistinctness  of  the  world  to  come.  There  had  been 
feverish  turns,  which  tossed  him  from  side  to  side,  and 
wore  away  what  little  strength  he  had.  But  in  his  most 
convulsive  struggles,  and  in  the  wildest  vagaries  of  his 
intellect,  when  no  other  thought  retained  its  sober  influ- 
ence, he  still  showed  an  awful  solicitude  lest  the  black 
veil  should  slip  aside.  Even  if  his  bewildered  soul  could 
have  forgotten,  there  was  a  faithful  woman  at  his  pillow, 
who,  with  averted  eyes,  would  have  covered  that  aged 
face,  which  she  had  last  beheld  in  the  comeliness  of  man- 
hood. At  length  the  death-stricken  old  man  lay  quietly 
in  the  torpor  of  mental  and  bodily  exhaustion,  with  an 
imperceptible  pulse,  and  breath  that  grew  fainter  and 
fainter,  except  when  a  long,  deep,  and  irregular  inspi- 
ration seemed  to  prelude  the  flight  of  his  spirit. 

The  minister  of  Westbury  approached  the  bedside. 

"  Venerable  Father  Hooper,"  said  he,  "  the  moment  of 
your  release  is  at  hand.  Are  you  ready  for  the  lifting 
of  the  veil,  that  shuts  in  time  from  eternity  ?  " 

Father  Hooper  at  first  replied  merely  by  a  feeble 
motion  of  his  head;  then,  apprehensive,  perhaps,  that 
his  meaning  might  be  doubtful,  he  exerted  himself  to 
speak. 

"  Yea,"  said  he,'  in  faint  accents,  "  my  soul  hath  a 
patient  weariness  until  that  veil  be  lifted." 

"  And  is  it  fitting,"  resumed  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark, 
"  that  a  man  so  given  to  prayer,  of  such  a  blameless 
example,  holy  in  deed  and  thought,  so  far  as  mortal 
judgment  may  pronounce,  —  is  it  fitting  that  a  father  in 
the  church  should  leave  a  shadow  on  his  memory,  that 
liny  seem  to  blacken  a  life  so  pure  ?  I  pray  you,  my 
venerable  brother,  fet  not  this  thing  be !  Suffer  us  to 


60  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

be  gladdened  by  your  triumphant  aspect,  as  you  go  to 
your  reward.  Before  the  veil  of  eternity  be  lifted,  let 
me  cast  aside  this  black  veil  from  your  face  ! " 

And  thus  speaking,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Clark  bent  for- 
ward to  reveal  the  mystery  of  so  many  years.  But, 
exerting  a  sudden  energy,  that  made  all  the  beholders 
stand  aghast,  Father  Hooper  snatched  both  his  hands 
from  beneath  the  bedclothes,  and  pressed  them  strongly 
on  the  black  veil,  resolute  to  struggle,  if  the  minister 
of  Westbury  would  contend  with  a  dying  man. 

"Never!"  cried  the  veiled  clergyman.  "On  earth, 
never ! " 

"  Dark  old  man !  "  exclaimed  the  affrighted  minister, 
"  with  what  horrible  crime  upon  your  soul  are  you  now 
passing  to  the  judgment  ?  " 

Father  Hooper's  breath  heaved;  it  rattled  in  his 
throat;  but,  with  a  mighty  effort,  grasping  forward 
with  his  hands,  he  caught  hold  of  life,  and  held  it 
back  till  he  should  speak.  He  even  raised  himself  in 
bed  ;  and  there  he  sat,  shivering  with  the  arms  of  death 
around  him,  while  the  black  veil  hung  down,  awful,  at 
that  last  moment,  in  the  gathered  terrors  of  a  lifetime. 
And  yet  the  faint,  sad  smile,  so  often  there,  now  seemed 
to  glimmer  from  its  obscurity,  and  linger  on  Father 
Hooper's  lips. 

"  Why  do  you  tremble  at  me  alone'?  "  cried  he,  turn- 
ing his  veiled  face  round  the  circle  of  pale  spectators. 
"Tremble  also  at  each  other!  Have  men  avoided  me, 
and  women  show.n  no  pity,  and  children  screamed  and 
fled,  only  for  my  black  veil?  What,  but  the  mystery 
which  it  obscurely  typifies,  has  made  this  piece  of  crape 
so  awful  ?  When  the  friend  shows  his  inmost  heart  to 
his  friend ;  the  lover  to  his  best  beloved ;  when  man  does 
not  vainly  shrink  from  the  eye  of  his  Creator,  loathsomely 


THE    MINISTER'S    BLACK    VEIL.  61 

treasuring  up  the  secret  of  his  sin;  then  deem  me  a 
monster,  for  the  symbol  beneath  which  I  have  lived,  and 
die !  I  look  around  me,  and,  lo !  on  every  visage  a 
Black  Veil ! " 

While  his  auditors  shrank  from  one  another,  in  mutual 
affright,  Father  Hooper  fell  back  upon  his  pillow,  a  veiled 
corpse,  with  a  faint  smile  lingering  on  the  lips.  Still 
veiled,  they  laid  him  in  his  coffin,  and  a  veiled  corpse 
they  bore  him  to  the  grave.  The  grass  of  many  years 
has  sprung  up  and  withered  on  that  grave,  the  burial 
stone  is  moss-grown,  and  good  Mr.  Hooper's  face  is 
dust;  but  awful  is  still  the  thought,  that  it  mouldered 
beneath  the  Black  Veil ! 


THE  MAYPOLE  OP  MERRY  MOUNT. 

There  is  an  admirable  foundation  for  a  philosophic  romance,  in  the 
curious  history  of  the  early  settlement  of  Mount  Wollaston,  or  Merry 
Mount.  In  the  slight  sketch  here  attempted,  the  facts  recorded  on  the 
grave  pages  of  our  New  England  annalists  have  wrought  themselves,  al- 
most spontaneously,  into  a  sort  of  allegory.  The  masques,  mummeries, 
and  festive  customs,  described  in  the  text,  are  in  accordance  with  the 
manners  of  the  age.  Authority  on  these  points  may  be  found  in  Strutt's 
Book  of  English  Sports  and  Pastimes. 

were  the  days  at  Merry  Mount,  when 
the  Maypole  was  the  banner  staff  of  that  gay 
colony  ]  They  who  reared  it,  should  their  ban- 
ner be  triumphant,  were  to  pour  sunshine  over  New  Eng- 
land's rugged  hills,  and  scatter  flower-seeds  throughout 
the  soil.  Jollity  and  gloom  were  contending  for  an 
empire.  Midsummer  eve  had  come,  bringing  deep  ver- 
dure to  the  forest,  and  roses  in  her  lap,  of  a  more  vivid 
hue  than  the  tender  buds  of  Spring.  But  May,  or  her 
mirthful  spirit,  dwelt  all  the  year  round  at  Merry  Mount, 
sporting  with  the  Summer  months,  and  revelling  with 
Autumn,  and  basking  in  the  glow  of  Winter's  fireside. 
Through  a  world  of  toil  and  care  she  flitted  with  a 
dream-like  smile,  and  came  hither  to  find  a  home  among 
the  lightsome  hearts  of  Merry  Mount. 

Never  had  the  Maypole  been  so  gayly  decked  as  at 
sunset  on  midsummer  eve.  This  venerated  emblem  was 
a  pine-tree,  which  had  preserved  the  slender  grace  of 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     63 

youth,  while  it  equalled  the  loftiest  height  of  the  old 
wood  monarchs.  From  its  top  streamed  a  silkeu  banner, 
colored  like  the  rainbow.  Down  nearly  to  the  ground, 
the  pole  was  dressed  with  birchen  boughs,  and  others  of 
the  liveliest  green,  and  some  with  silvery  leaves,  fastened 
by  ribbons  that  fluttered  in  fantastic  knots  of  twenty  dif- 
ferent colors,  but  110  sad  ones.  Garden  flowers  and 
blossoms  of  the  wilderness  laughed  gladly  forth  amid 
the  verdure,  so  fresh  and  dewy,  that  they  must  have 
grown  by  magic  on  that  happy  pine-tree.  Where  this 
green  and,  flowery  splendor  terminated,  the  shaft  of  the 
Maypole  was  stained  with  the  seven  brilliant  hues  of  the 
banner  at  its  top.  On  the  lowest  green  bough  hung  an 
abundant  wreath  of  roses,  some  that  had  been  gathered 
in  the  sunniest  spots  of  the  forest,  and  others,  of  still 
richer  blush,  which  the  colonists  had  reared  from  Eng- 
lish seed.  O  people  of  the  Golden  Age,  the  chief  of 
your  husbandry  was  to  raise  flowers  ! 

But  what  was  the  wild  throng  that  stood  hand  in  hand 
about  the  Maypole  ?  It  could  not  be,  that  the  fauns 
and  nymphs,  when  driven  from  their  classic  groves  and 
homes  of  ancient  fable,  had  sought  refuge,  as  all  the  per- 
secuted did,  in  the  fresh  woods  of  the  West.  These  were 
Gothic  monsters,  though  perhaps  of  Grecian  ancestry. 
On  the  shoulders  of  a  comely  youth  uprose  the  head  and 
branching  antlers  of  a  stag;  a  second,  human  in  all 
other  points,  had  the  grim  visage  of  a  wolf;  a  third,  still 
with  the  trunk  and  limbs  of  a  mortal  man,  showed  the 
beard  and  horns  of  a  venerable  he-goat.  There  was  the 
likeness  of  a  bear  erect,  brute  in  all  but  his  hind  legs, 
which  were  adorned  with  pink  silk  stockings.  And 
here  again,  almost  as  wondrous,  stood  a  real  bear  of  the 
dark  forest,  lending  each  of  his  fore-paws  to  the  grasp  of 
a  human  hand,  and  as  ready  for  the  dance  as  any  in  that 


64  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

circle.  His  inferior  nature  rose  half-way,  to  meet  his 
companions  as  they  stooped.  Other  faces  wore  the  simil- 
itude of  man  or  woman,  but  distorted  or  extravagant, 
with  red  noses  pendulous  before  their  mouths,  which 
seemed  of  awful  depth,  and  stretched  from  ear  to  ear  in 
an  eternal  fit  of  laughter.  Here  might  be  seen  the  Sal- 
vage Man,  well  known  in  heraldry,  hairy  as  a  baboon, 
and  girdled  with  green  leaves.  By  his  side,  a  nobler 
figure,  but  still  a  counterfeit,  appeared  an  Indian  hunter, 
with  feathery  crest  and  wampum  belt.  Many  of  this 
strange  company  wore  foolscaps,  and  had  little  bells  ap- 
pended to  their  garments,  tinkling  with  a  silvery  sound, 
responsive  to  the  inaudible  music  of  their  gleesome  spir- 
its. Some  youths  and  maidens  were  of  soberer  garb, 
yet  well  maintained  their  places  in  the  irregular  throng, 
by  the  expression  of  wild  revelry  upon  their  features. 
Such  were  the  colonists  of  Merry  Mount,  as  they  stood 
in  the  broad  smile  of  sunset,  round  their  'venerated  May- 
pole. 

Had  a  wanderer,  bewildered  in  the  melancholy  forest, 
heard  their  mirth,  and  stolen  a  half-affrighted  glance,  he 
might  have  fancied  them  the  crew  of  Comus,  some 
already  transformed  to  brutes,  some  midway  between 
man  and  beast,  and  the  others  rioting  in  the  flow  of  tipsy 
jollity  that  foreran  the  change.  But  a  band  of  Puritans, 
who  watched  the  scene,  invisible  themselves,  compared 
the  masques  to  those  devils  and  ruined  souls  with  whom 
their  superstition  peopled  the  black  wilderness. 

Within  the  ring  of  monsters  appeared  the  two  airiest 
forms  that  had  ever  trodden  on  any  more  solid  footing  than 
a  purple  and  golden  cloud.  One  was  a  youth  in  glisten- 
ing apparel,  with  a  scarf  of  the  rainbow  pattern  crosswise 
on  his  breast.  His  right  hand  held  a  gilded  staff,  the 
ensign  of  high  dignity  among  the  revellers,  and  his  left 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     65 

grasped  the  slender  fingers  of  a  fair  maiden,  not  less 
gayly  decorated  than  himself.  Bright  roses  glowed  in 
contrast  with  the  dark  and  glossy  curls  of  each,  and  were 
scattered  round  their  feet,  or  had  sprung  up  spontane- 
ously there.  Behind  this  lightsome  couple,  so  close  to 
the  Maypole  that  its  boughs  shaded  his  jovial  face,  stood 
the  figure  of  an  English  priest,  canonically  dressed,  yet 
decked  with  flowers,  in  heathen  fashion,  and  wearing 
a  chaplet  of  the  native  vine-leaves.  By  the  riot  of  his 
rolling  eye,  and  the  pagan  decorations  of  his  holy  garb, 
he  seemed  the  wildest  monster  there,  and  the  very  Co- 
mus  of  the  crew. 

"Votaries  of  the  Maypole,"  cried  the  flower-decked 
priest,  "  merrily,  all  day  long,  have  the  woods  echoed  to 
your  mirth.  But  be  this  your  merriest  hour.,  my  hearts ! 
Lo,  here  stand  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May,  whom  I, 
a  clerk  of  Oxford,  and  high-priest  of  Merry  Mount,  am 
presently  to  join  in  holy  matrimony.  Up  with  your 
nimble  spirits,  ye  morris  dancers,  green  men,  and  glee 
maidens,  bears  and  wolves,  and  horned  gentlemen ! 
Come  ;  a  chorus  now,  rich  with  the  old  mirth  of  Merry 
England,  and  the  wilder  glee  of  this  fresh  forest ;  and 
then  a  dance,  to  show  the  youthful  pair  what  life  is  made 
of,  and  how  airily  they  should  go  through  it !  All  ye 
that  love  the  Maypole,  lend  your  voices  to  the  nuptial 
song  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May  !  " 

This  wedlock  was  more  serious  than  most  affairs  of 
Merry  Mount,  where  jest  and  delusion,  trick  and  fantasy, 
kept  up  a  continual  carnival.  The  Lord  and  Lady  of  the 
May,  though  their  titles  must  be  laid  down  at  sunset, 
were  reafly  and  truly  to  be  partners  for  the  dance  of  life, 
beginning  the  measure  that  same  bright  eve.  The  wreath 
of  roses,  that  hung  from  the  lowest  green  bough  of  the 
Maypole,  had  been  twined  for  them,  and  would  be  thrown 


66  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

over  both  their  heads,  in  symbol  of  their  flowery  union. 
When  the  priest  had  spoken,  therefore,  a  riotous  uproar 
burst  from  the  rout  of  monstrous  figures. 

"  Begin  you  the  stave,  reverend  Sir,"  cried  they  all ; 
"  and  never  did  the  woods  ring  to  such  a  merry  peal,  as 
we  of  the  Maypole  shall  send  up  !  " 

Immediately  a  prelude  of  pipe,  cithern,  and  viol, 
touched  with  practised  minstrelsy,  began  to  play  from 
a  neighboring  thicket,  in  such  a  mirthful  cadence  that 
the  boughs  of  the  Maypole  quivered  to  the  sound.  But 
the  May  Lord,  he  of  the  gilded  staff,  chancing  to  look 
into  his  Lady's  eyes,  was  wonder-struck  at  the  almost 
pensive  glance  that  met  his  own. 

"Edith,  sweet  Lady  of  the  May,"  whispered  he,  re- 
proachfully, "  is  yon  wreath  of  roses  a  garland  to  hang 
above  our  graves,  that  you  look  so  sad  ?  O  Edith,  this 
is  our  golden  time !  Tarnish  it  not  by  any  pensive 
shadow  of  the  mind;  for  it  may  be  that  nothing  of 
futurity  will  be  brighter  than  the  mere  remembrance  of 
what  is  now  passing." 

"  That  was  the  very  thought  that  saddened  me  !  How 
came  it  in  your  mind  too  ?  "  said  Edith,  in  a  still  lower 
tone  than  he ;  for  it  was  high  treason  to  be  sad  at  Merry 
Mount.  "  Therefore  do  I  sigh  amid  this  festive  music. 
And  besides,  dear  Edgar,  I  struggle  as  with  a  dream,  and 
fancy  that  these  shapes  of  our  jovial  friends  are  visionary, 
and  their  mirth  unreal,  and  that  we  are  no  true  Lord  and 
Lady  of  the  May.  What  is  the  mystery  in  my  heart  ?  " 

Just  then,  as  if  a  spell  had  loosened  them,  down  came 
a  little  shower  of  withering  rose-leaves  from  the  Maypole. 
Alas,  for  the  young  lovers !  No  sooner  had  their  hearts 
glowed  with  real  passion,  than  they  were  sensible  of 
something  vague  and  unsubstantial  in  their  former  pleas- 
ures, and  felt  a  dreary  presentiment  of  inevitable  change 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     67 

From  the  moment  that  they  truly  loved,  they  had  sub- 
jected themselves  to  earth's  doom  of  care  and  sorrow, 
and  troubled  joy,  and  had  no  more  a  home  at  Merry 
Mount.  That  was  Edith's  mystery.  Now  leave  we  the 
priest  to  marry  them,  and  the  masquers  to  sport  round 
the  Maypole,  till  the  last  sunbeam  be  withdrawn  from  its 
summit,  and  the  shadows  of  the  forest  mingle  gloomily 
in  the  dance.  Meanwhile,  we  may  discover  who  these 
gay  people  were. 

Two  hundred  years  ago,  and  more,  the  Old  World  and 
its  inhabitants  became  mutually  weary  of  each  other. 
Men  voyaged  by  thousands  to  the  West ;  some  to  barter 
glass  beads,  and  such  like  jewels,  for  the  furs  of  the  In- 
dian hunter ;  some  to  conquer  virgin  empires ;  and  one 
stern  band  to  pray.  But  none  of  these  motives  had  much 
weight  with  the  colonists  of  Merry  Mount.  Their  lead- 
ers were  men  who  had  sported  so  long  with  life,  that 
when  Thought  and  Wisdom  came,  even  these  unwelcome 
guests  were  led  astray  by  the  crowd  of  vanities  which 
they  should  have  put  to  flight.  Erring  Thought  and 
perverted  Wisdom  were  made  to  put  on  masques,  and 
play  the  fool.  The  men  of  whom  we  speak,  after  losing 
the  heart's  fresh  gayety,  imagined  a  wild  philosophy  of 
pleasure,  and  came  hither  to  act  out  their  latest  day- 
dream. They  gathered  followers  from  all  that  giddy 
tribe,  whose  whole  life  is  like  the  festal  days  of  soberer 
men.  In  their  train  were  minstrels,  not  unknown  in 
London  streets ;  wandering  players,  whose  theatres  had 
been  the  halls  of  noblemen ;  mummers,  rope-dancers,  and 
mountebanks,  who  would  long  be  missed  at  wakes,  church 
ales,  and  fairs ;  in  a  word,  mirth-makers  of  every  sort, 
sucli  as  abounded  in  that  age,  but  now  began  to  be  dis- 
countenanced by  the  rapid  growth  of  Puritanism.  Light 
had  their  footsteps  been  on  laud,  and  as  lightly  they  came 


68  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

across  the  sea.  Many  had  been  maddened  by  their  pre- 
vious troubles  into  a  gay  despair ;  others  were  as  madly 
gay  in  the  flush  of  youth,  like  the  May  Lord  and  his 
Lady ;  but  whatever  might  be  the  quality  of  their  mirth, 
old  and  young  were  gay  at  Merry  Mount.  The  young 
deemed  themselves  happy.  The  elder  spirits,  if  they 
knew  that  mirth  was  but  the  counterfeit  of  happiness, 
yet  followed  the  false  shadow  wilfully,  because  at  least 
her  garments  glittered  brightest.  Sworn  triflers  of  a 
lifetime,  they  would  not  venture  among  the  sober  truths 
of  life,  not  even  to  be  truly  blest. 

All  the  hereditary  pastimes  of  Old  England  were 
transplanted  hither.  The  King  of  Christmas  was  duly 
crowned,  and  the  Lord  of  Misrule  bore  potent  sway.  On 
the  eve  of  Saint  John,  they  felled  whole  acres  of  the 
forest  to  make  bonfires,  and  danced  by  the  blaze  all 
night,  crowned  with  garlands,  and  throwing  flowers  into 
the  flame.  At  harvest-time,  though  their  crop  was  of 
the  smallest,  they  made  an  image  with  the  sheaves  of 
Indian  corn,  and  wreathed  it  with  autumnal  garlands, 
and  bore  it  home  triumphantly.  But  what  chiefly  char- 
acterized the  colonists  of  Merry  Mount  was  their  ven- 
eration for  the  Maypole.  It  has  made  their  true  history 
a  poet's  tale.  Spring  decked  the  hallowed  emblem  with 
young  blossoms  and  fresh  green  boughs ;  Summer  brought 
roses  of  the  deepest  blush,  and  the  perfected  foliage  of 
the  forest ;  Autumn  enriched  it  with  that  red  and  yellow 
gorgeousness,  which  converts  each  wildwood  leaf  into  a 
painted  flower;  and  Winter  silvered  it  with  sleet,  and 
hung  it  round  with  icicles,  till  it  flashed  iu  the  cold  sun- 
shine, itself  a  frozen  sunbeam.  Thus  each  alternate 
season  did  homage  to  the  Maypole,  and  paid  it  a  tribute 
of  its  own  richest  splendor.  Its  votaries  danced  round 
it,  once,  at  least,  in  every  mouth ;  sometimes  they  called 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     69 

it  their  religion,  or  their  altar;  but  always,  it  was  the 
banner  staff  of  Merry  Mount. 

Unfortunately,  there  were  men  in  the  New  World  of 
a  sterner  faith  than  these  Maypole  worshippers.  Not 
far  from  Merry  Mount  was  a  settlement  of  Puritans, 
most  dismal  wretches,  who  said  their  prayers  before 
daylight,  and  then  wrought  in  the  forest  or  the  cornfield 
till  evening  made  it  prayer-time  again.  Their  weapons 
were  always  at  hand,  to  shoot  down  the  straggling  sav- 
age. When  they  met  in  conclave,  it  was  never  to  keep 
up  the  old  English  mirth,  but  to  hear  sermons  three 
hours  long,  or  to  proclaim  bounties  on  the  heads  of 
wolves  and  the  scalps  of  Indians.  Their  festivals  were 
fast-days,  and  their  chief  pastime  the  singing  of  psalms. 
Woe  to  the  youth  or  maiden  who  did  but  dream  of  a 
dance!  The  selectman  nodded  to  the  constable;  and 
there  sat  the  light-heeled  reprobate  in  the  stocks ;  or  if 
he  danced,  it  was  round  the  whipping-post,  which  might 
be  termed  the  Puritan  Maypole. 

A  party  of  these  grim  Puritans,  toiling  through  the 
difficult  woods,  each  with  a  horse-load  of  iron  armor  to 
burden  his  footsteps,  would  sometimes  draw  near  the 
sunny  precincts  of  Merry  Mount.  There  were  the  silken 
colonists,  sporting  round  their  Maypole ;  perhaps  teach- 
ing a  bear  to  dance,  or  striving  to  communicate  their 
mirth  to  the  grave  Indian  ;  or  masquerading  in  the  skins 
of  deer  and  wolves,  which  they  had  hunted  for  that 
^especial  purpose.  Often,  the  whole  colony  were  playing 
at  blind-man's-buff,  magistrates  and  all  with  their  eyes 
bandaged,  except  a  single  scape-goat,  whom  the  blinded 
sinners  pursued  by  the  tinkling  of  the  bells  at  his  gar- 
ments. Once,  it  is  said,  they  were  seen  following  a 
flower-decked  corpse,  with  merriment  and  festive  music, 
to  his  grave.  But  did  the  dead  man  laugh  ?  In  their 


70  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

quietest  times,  they  sang  ballads  and  told  tales,  for  the 
edification  of  their  pious  visitors  ;  or  perplexed  them  with 
juggling  tricks;  or  grinned  at  them  through  horse-col- 
lars ;  and  when  sport  itself  grew  wearisome,  they  made 
game  of  their  own  stupidity,  and  began  a  yawning  match. 
At  the  very  least  of  these  enormities,  the  men  of  iron 
shook  their  heads  and  frowned  so  darkly,  that  the  revel- 
lers looked  up,  imagining  that  a  momentary  cloud  had 
overcast  the  sunshine,  which  was  to  be  perpetual  there. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Puritans  affirmed,  that,  when  a 
psalm  was  pealing  from  their  place  of  worship,  the  echo 
which  the  forest  sent  them  back  seemed  often  like  the 
chorus  of  a  jolly  catch,  closing  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 
Who  but  the  fiend,  aud  his  bond  slaves,  the  crew  of 
Merry  Mount,  had  thus  disturbed  them  ?  In  due  time, 
a  feud  arose,  stern  and  bitter  on  one  side,  and  as  serious 
on  the  other  as  anything  could  be  among  such  light  spir- 
its as  had  sworn  allegiance  to  the  Maypole.  The  future 
complexion  of  New  England  was  involved  in  this  impor- 
tant quarrel.  Should  the  grizzly  saints  establish  their 
jurisdiction  over  the  gay  sinners,  then  would  their  spirits 
darken  all  the  clime,  and  make  it  a  land  of  clouded  visages, 
of  hard  toil,  of  sermon  and  psalm  forever.  But  should 
the  banner  staff  of  Merry  Mount  be  fortunate,  sunshine 
would  break  upon  the  hills,  and  flowers  would  beautify 
the  forest,  and  late  posterity  do  homage  to  the  Maypole. 
After  these  authentic  passages  from  history,  we  return 
to  the  nuptials  of  the  Lord  and  Lady  of  the  May.  Alas  ! 
we  have  delayed  too  long,  and  must  darken  our  tale  too 
suddenly.  As  we  glance  again  at  the  Maypole,  a  solitary 
sunbeam  is  fading  from  the  summit,  and  leaves  only  a 
faint,  golden  tinge,  blended  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow 
banner.  Even  that  dim  light  is  now  withdrawn,  relin- 
quishing the  whole  domain  of  Merry  Mount  to  the  even- 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     71 

ing  gloom,  which  has  rushed  so  instantaneously  from  the 
black  surrounding  woods.  But  some  of  these  black 
shadows  have  rushed  forth  in  human  shape. 

Yes,  with  the  setting  sun,  the  last  day  of  mirth  had 
passed  from  Merry  Mount.  The  ring  of  gay  masquers 
was  disordered  and  broken ;  the  stag  lowered  his  antlers 
in  dismay ;  the  wolf  grew  weaker  than  a  lamb  ;  the  bells 
of  the  morris  dancers  tinkled  with  tremulous  affright. 
The  Puritans  had  played  a  characteristic  part  in  the  May- 
pole mummeries.  Their  darksome  figures  were  inter- 
mixed with  the  wild  shapes  of  their  foes,  and  made  the 
scene  a  picture  of  the  moment,  when  waking  thoughts 
start  up  amid  the  scattered  fantasies  of  a  dream.  The 
leader  of  the  hostile  party  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  circle, 
while  the  rout  of  monsters  cowered  around  him,  like  evil 
spirits  in  the  presence  of  a  dread  magician.  No  fantastic 
foolery  could  look  him  in  the  face.  So  stern  was  the 
energy  of  his  aspect,  that  the  whole  man,  visage,  frame, 
and  soul,  seemed  wrought  of  iron,  gifted  with  life  and 
thought,  yet  all  of  one  substance  with  his  headpiece  and 
breastplate.  It  was  the  Puritan  of  Puritans ;  it  was 
Endicott  himself ! 

"  Stand  off,  priest  of  Baal ! "  said  he,  with  a  grim 
frown,  and  laying  no  reverent  hand  upon  the  surplice. 
"  I  know  thee,  Blackstone  !  *  Thou  art  the  man,  who 
couldst  not  abide  the  rule  even  of  thine  own  corrupted 
church,  and  hast  come  hither  to  preach  iniquity,  and  to 
give  example  of  it  in  thy  life.  But  now  shall  it  be  seen, 
that  the  Lord  hath  sanctified  this  wilderness  for  his 

*  Did  Governor  Endicott  speak  less  positively,  we  should 
suspect  a  mistake  here.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Blackstone,  though  an 
eccentric,  is  not  known  to  have  been  an  immoral  num.  We- 
rather  doubt  his  identity  with  the  priest  of  Merry  Mount. 


72  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

peculiar  people.  Woe  unto  them  that  would  defile  it '. 
And  first,  for  this  flower-decked  abomination,  the  altar  of 
thy  worship  !  " 

And  with  his  keen  sword  Endicott  assaulted  the  hal- 
lowed Maypole.  Nor  long  did  it  resist  his  arm.  It 
groaned  with  a  dismal  sound;  it  showered  leaves  and 
rosebuds  upon  the  remorseless  enthusiast;  and  finally, 
with  all  its  green  boughs,  and  ribbons,  and  flowers,  sym- 
bolic of  departed  pleasures,  down  fell  the  banner  staff  of 
Merry  Mount.  As  it  sank,  tradition  says,  the  evening 
sky  grew  darker,  and  the  woods  threw  forth  a  more 
sombre  shadow. 

"  There,"  cried  Endicott,  looking  triumphantly  on  his 
work,  —  "there  lies  the  only  Maypole  in  New  England  ! 
The  thought  is  strong  within  me,  that,  by  its  fall,  is 
shadowed  forth  the  fate  of  light  and  idle  mirth-makers, 
amongst  us  and  our  posterity.  Amen,  saith  John  En- 
dicott." 

"  Amen !  "  echoed  his  followers. 

But  the  votaries  of  the  Maypole  gave  one  groan  for 
their  idol.  At  the  sound,  the  Puritan  leader  glanced  at 
the  crew  of  Comus,  each  a  figure  of  broad  mirth,  yet,  at 
this  moment,  strangely  expressive  of  sorrow  and  dismay. 

"Valiant  captain,"  quoth  Peter  Palfrey,  the  Ancient 
of  the  band,  "  what  order  shall  be  taken  with  the  prison- 
ers ?  " 

"  I  thought  not  to  repent  me  of  cutting  down  a  May- 
pole," replied  Endicott,  "yet  now  I  could  find  in  my 
heart  to  plant  it  again,  and  give  each  of  these  bestial 
pagans  one  other  dance  round  their  idol.  It  would  have 
served  rarely  for  a  whipping-post !  " 

"  But  there  are  pine-trees  enow,"  suggested  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  True,  good  Ancient,"  said  the  leader.     "  Wherefore, 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MEERY  MOUNT.     73 

bind  the  heathen  crew,  and  bestow  on  them  a  small 
matter  of  stripes  apiece,  as  earnest  of  our  future  justice. 
Set  some  of  the  rogues  in  the  stocks  to  rest  themselves, 
so  soon  as  Providence  shall  bring  us  to  one  of  our  own 
well-ordered  settlements,  where  such  accommodations 
may  be  found.  Further  penalties,  such  as  branding 
and  cropping  of  ears,  shall  be  thought  of  hereafter." 

"  How  many  stripes  for  the  priest  ?  "  inquired  Ancient 
Palfrey. 

"  None  as  yet,"  answered  Endicott,  bending  his  iron 
frown  upon  the  culprit.  "  It  must  be  for  the  Great  and 
General  Court  to  determine  whether  stripes  and  long 
imprisonment,  and  other  grievous  penalty,  may  atone 
for  his  transgressions.  Let  him  look  to  himself!  For 
such  as  violate  our  civil  order,  it  may  be  permitted  us 
to  show  mercy.  But  woe  to  the  wretch  that  troubleth 
our  religion ! " 

"  And  this  dancing  bear,"  resumed  the  officer.  "  Must 
he  share  the  stripes  of  his  fellows  ?  " 

"  Shoot  him  through  the  head ! "  said  the  energetic 
Puritan.  "  I  suspect  witchcraft  in  the  beast." 

"  Here  be  a  couple  of  shining  ones,"  continued  Peter 
Palfrey,  pointing  his  weapon  at  the  Lord  and  Lady  of 
the  May.  "  They  seem  to  be  of  high  station  among  these 
misdoers.  Methinks  their  dignity  will  not  be  fitted  with 
less  than  a  double  share  of  stripes." 

Endicott  rested  on  his  sword,  and  closely  surveyed  the 
dress  and  aspect  of  the  hapless  pair.  There  they  stood, 
pale,  downcast,  and  apprehensive.  Yet  there  was  an  air 
of  mutual  support,  and  of  pure  affection,  seeking  aid  and 
giving  it,  that  showed  them  to  be  man  and  wife,  with  the 
sanction  of  a  priest  upon  their  love.  The  youth,  in  the 
peril  of  the  moment,  had  dropped  his  gilded  staff,  and 
thrown  his  arm  about  the  Lady  of  the  May,  who  leaned 

VOL.  I.  4 


74  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

against  his  breast,  too  lightly  to  burden  him,  but  with 
weight  enough  to  express  that  their  destinies  were  linked 
together,  for  good  or  evil.  They  looked  first  at  each 
other,  and  then  into  the  grim  captain's  face.  There  they 
stood,  in  the  first  hour  of  wedlock,  while  the  idle  pleas- 
ures, of  which  their  companions  were  the  emblems,  had 
given  place  to  the  sternest  cares  of  life,  personified  by 
the  dark  Puritans.  But  never  had  their  youthful  beauty 
seemed  so  pure  and  high,  as  when  its  glow  was  chastened 
by  adversity. 

"Youth,"  said  Endicott,  "ye  stand  in  an  evil  case, 
thou  and  thy  maiden  wife.  Make  ready  presently;  for 
I  am  minded  that  ye  shall  both  have  a  token  to  remember 
your  wedding-day ! " 

"  Stern  man,"  cried  the  May  Lord,  "  how  can  I  move 
thee  ?  Were  the  means  at  hand,  I  would  resist  to  the 
death.  Being  powerless,  I  entreat !  Do  with  me  as  thou 
wilt,  but  let  Edith  go  untouched  !  " 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  immitigable  zealot.  "  We  are 
not  wont  to  show  an  idle  courtesy  to  that  sex,  which 
requireth  the  stricter  discipline.  What  sayest  thou, 
maid?  Shall  thy  silken  bridegroom  suffer  thy  share 
of  the  penalty,  besides  his  own?" 

"  Be  it  death,"  said  Edith,  "  and  lay  it  all  on  me  !  " 

Truly,  as  Endicott  had  said,  the  poor  lovers  stood  in 
a  woful  case.  Their  foes  were  triumphant,  their  friends 
captive  and  abased,  their  home  desolate,  the  benighted 
wilderness  around  them,  and  a  rigorous  destiny,  in  the 
shape  of  the  Puritan  leader,  their  only  guide.  Yet  the 
deepening  twilight  could  not  altogether  conceal  that  the 
iron  man  was  softened ;  he  smiled  at  the  fair  spectacle 
of  early  love ;  he  almost  sighed  for  the  inevitable  blight 
of  early  hopes. 

"  The  troubles  of  life  have  come  hastily  on  this  young 


THE  MAYPOLE  OF  MERRY  MOUNT.     75 

couple,"  observed  Endicott.  "We  will  see  how  they 
comport  themselves  under  their  present  trials,  ere  we 
burden  them  with  greater.  If,  among  the  spoil,  there 
be  any  garments  of  a  more  decent  fashion,  let  them  be 
put  upon  this  May  Lord  and  his  Lady,  instead  of  their 
glistening  vanities.  Look  to  it,  some  of  you." 

"  And  shall  not  the  youth's  hair  be  cut  ?  "  asked  Peter 
Palfrey,  looking  with  abhorrence  at  the  love-lock  and 
long  glossy  curls  of  the  young  man. 

"  Crop  it  forthwith,  and  that  in  the  true  pumpkin-shell 
fashion,"  answered  the  captain.  "  Then  bring  them  along 
with  us,  but  more  gently  than  their  fellows.  There  be 
qualities  in  the  youth,  which  may  make  him  valiant  to 
fight,  and  sober  to  toil,  and  pious  to  pray ;  and  in  the 
maiden,  that  may  fit  her  to  become  a  mother  in  our 
Israel,  bringing  up  babes  in  better  nurture  than  he,r  own 
hath  been.  Nor  think  ye,  young  ones,  that  they  are  the 
happiest,  even  in  our  lifetime  of  a  moment,  who  misspend 
it  in  dancing  round  a  Maypole  !  " 

And  Endicott,  the  severest  Puritan  of  all  who  laid  the 
rock  foundation  of  New  England,  lifted  the  wreath  of 
roses  from  the  ruin  of  the  Maypole,  and  threw  it,  with 
his  own  gauntleted  hand,  over  the  heads  of  the  Lord 
and  Lady  of  the  May.  It  was  a  deed  of  prophecy.  As 
the  moral  gloom  of  the  world  overpowers  all  systematic 
gayety,  even  so  was  their  home  of  wild  mirth  made  deso- 
late amid  the  sad  forest.  They  returned  to  it  no  more. 
But,  as  their  flowery  garland  was  wreathed  of  the  bright- 
est roses  that  had  grown  there,  so,  in  the  tie  that  united 
them,  were  intertwined  all  the  purest  and  best  of  their 
early  joys.  They  went  heavenward,  supporting  each 
other  along  the  difficult  path  which  it  was  their  lot  to 
tread,  and  never  wasted  one  regretful  thought  on  the 
vanities  of  Merry  Mount. 


THE  GENTLE  BOY. 

JN  the  course  of  the  year  1656,  several  of  the 
people  called  Quakers,  led,  as  they  professed, 
by  the  inward  movement  of  the  spirit,  made 
their  appearance  in  New  England.  Their  reputation,  as 
holders  of  mystic  and  pernicious  principles,  having  spread 
before  them,  the  Puritans  early  endeavored  to  banish, 
and  to  prevent  the  further  intrusion  of  the  rising  sect. 
But  the  measures  by  which  it  was  intended  to  purge  the 
land  of  heresy,  though  more  than  sufficiently  vigorous, 
were  entirely  unsuccessful.  The  Quakers,  esteeming 
persecution  as  a  divine  call  to  the  post  of  danger,  laid 
claim  to  a  holy  courage,  unknown  to  the  Puritans  them- 
selves, who  had  shunned  the  cross,  by  providing  for  the 
peaceable  exercise  of  their  religion  in  a  distant  wilder- 
ness. Though  it  was  the  singular  fact,  that  every  nation 
of  the  earth  rejected  the  wandering  enthusiasts  who  prac- 
tised peace  towards  all  men,  the  place  of  greatest  uneasi- 
ness and  peril,  and  therefore,  in  their  eyes,  the  most 
eligible,  was  the  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay. 

The  fines,  imprisonments,  and  stripes,  liberally  distrib- 
uted by  our  pious  forefathers,  the  popular  antipathy, 
so  strong  that  it  endured  nearly  a  hundred  years  after 
actual  persecution  had  ceased,  were  attractions  as  power- 
ful for  the  Quakers  as  peace,  honor,  and  reward  would 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  77 

have  been  for  the  worldly-minded.  Every  European 
vessel  brought  new  cargos  of  the  sect,  eager  to  testify 
against  the  oppression  which  they  hoped  to  share  ;  and, 
when  shipmasters  were  restrained  by  heavy  fines  from 
affording  them  passage,  they  made  long  and  circuitous 
journeys  through  the  Indian  country,  and  appeared  in 
the  province  as  if  conveyed  by  a  supernatural  power. 
Their  enthusiasm,  heightened  almost  to  madness  by  the 
treatment  which  they  received,  produced  actions  contrary 
to  the  rules  of  decency,  as  well  as  of  rational  religion,  and 
presented  a  singular  contrast  to  the  calm  and  staid  de- 
portmeYit  of  their  sectarian  successors  of  the  present  day. 
The  command  of  the  spirit,  inaudible  except  to  the  soul, 
and  not  to  be  controverted  on  grounds  of  human  wisdom, 
was  made  a  plea  for  most  indecorous  exhibitions,  which, 
abstractedly  considered,  well  deserved  the  moderate 
chastisement  of  the  rod.  These  extravagances,  and  the 
persecution  which  was  at  once  their  cause  and  conse- 
quence, continued  to  increase,  till,  in  the  year  1659,  the 
government  of  Massachusetts  Bay  indulged  two  members 
of  the  Quaker  sect  with  the  crown  of  martyrdom. 

An  indelible  stain  of  blood  is  upon  the  hands  of  all 
who  consented  to  this  act,  but  a  large  share  of  the  awful 
responsibility  must  rest  upon  the  person  then  at  the  head 
of  the  government.  He  was  a  man  of  narrow  mind  and 
imperfect  education,  and  his  uncompromising  bigotry 
was  made  hot  and  mischievous  by  violent  and  hasty  pas- 
sions ;  he  exerted  his  influence  indecorously  and  unjusti- 
fiably to  compass  the  death  of  the  enthusiasts ;  and  his 
whole  conduct,  in  respect  to  them,  was  marked  by  brutal 
cruelty.  The  Quakers,  whose  revengeful  feelings  were 
not  less  deep  because  they  were  inactive,  remembered 
this  man  and  his  associates,  in  after  times.  The  histo- 
rian of  the  sect  affirms  that,  by  the  wrath  of  Heaven,  a 


78  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

blight  fell  upon  the  land  in  the  vicinity  of  the  "bloody 
town "  of  Boston,  so  that  no  wheat  would  grow  there  ; 
and  he  takes  his  stand,  as  it  were,  among  the  graves  of 
the  ancient  persecutors,  and  triumphantly  recounts  the 
judgments  that  overtook  them,  in  old  age  or  at  the  part- 
ing hour.  He  tells  us  that  they  died  suddenly,  and  vio- 
lently, and  in  madness  ;  but  nothing  can  exceed  the  bitter 
mockery  with  which  he  records  the  loathsome  disease, 
and  "  death  by  rottenness,"  of  the  fierce  and  cruel  gov- 


On  the  evening  of  the  autumn  day,  that  had  witnessed 
the  martyrdom  of  two  men  of  the  Quaker  persuasion, 
a  Puritan  settler  was  returning  from  the  metropolis  to 
the  neighboring  country  town  iu  which  he  resided.  The 
air  was  cool,  the  sky  clear,  and  the  lingering  twilight  was 
made  brighter  by  the  rays  of  a  young  moon,  which  had 
now  nearly  reached  the  verge  of  the  horizon.  The  trav- 
eller, a  man  of  middle  age,  wrapped  in  a  gray  frieze 
cloak,  quickened  his  pace  when  he  had  reached  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  for  a  gloomy  extent  of  nearly  four 
miles  lay  between  him  and  his  home.  The  low,  straw- 
thatched  houses  were  scattered  at  considerable  intervals 
along  the  road,  and  the  country  having  been  settled  but 
about  thirty  years,  the  tracts  of  original  forest  still  bore 
no  small  proportion  to  the  cultivated  ground.  The 
autumn  wind  wandered  among  the  branches,  whirling 
away  the  leaves  from  all  except  the  pine-trees,  and  moan- 
ing as  if  it  lamented  the  desolation  of  which  it  was  the 
instrument.  The  road  had  penetrated  the  mass  of  woods 
that  lay  nearest  to  the  town,  and  was  just  emerging  into 
an  open  space,  when  the  traveller's  ears  were  saluted  by 
a  sound  more  mournful  than  even  that  of  the  wind.  It 
was  like  the  wailing  of  some  one  in  distress,  and  it  seemed 


THE    GENTLE   BOY.  79 

to  proceed  from  beneath  a  tall  and  lonely  fir-tree,  in  the 
centre  of  a  cleared,  but  unenclosed  and  uncultivated  field. 
The  Puritan  could  not  but  remember  that  this  was  the 
very  spot  which  had  been  made  accursed  a  few  hours 
before  by  the  execution  of  the  Quakers,  whose  bodies  had 
been  thrown  together  into  one  hasty  grave,  beneath  the 
tree  on  which  they  suffered.  He  struggled,  however, 
against  the  superstitious  fears  which  belonged  to  the  age, 
and  compelled  himself  to  pause  and  listen. 

"  The  voice  is  most  likely  mortal,  nor  have  I  cause  to 
tremble  if  it  be  otherwise,"  thought  he,  straining  his  eyes 
through  the  dim  moonlight.  "  Methinks  it  is  like  the 
wailing  of  a  child;  some  infant,  it  may  be,  which  has 
strayed  from  its  mother,  and  chanced  upon  this  place  of 
death.  For  the  ease  of  mine  own  conscience,  I  must 
search  this  matter  out." 

He  therefore  left  the  path,  and  walked  somewhat  fear- 
fully across  the  field.  Though  now  so  desolate,  its  soil 
was  pressed  down  and  trampled  by  the  thousand  footsteps 
of  those  who  had  witnessed  the  spectacle  of  that  day,  all 
of  whom  had  now  retired,  leaving  the  dead  to  their  lone- 
liness. The  traveller  at  length  reached  the  fir-tree,  which 
from  the  middle  upward  was  covered  with  living  branches, 
although  a  scaffold  had  been  erected  beneath,  and  other 
preparations  made  for  the  work  of  death.  Under  this 
unhappy  tree,  which  in  after  times  was  believed  to  drop 
poison  with  its  dew,  sat  the  one  solitary  mourner  for  in- 
nocent blood.  It  was  a  slender  and  light-clad  little  boy, 
who  leaned  his  face  upon  a  hillock  of  fresh-turned  and 
half-frozen  earth,  and  wailed  bitterly,  yet  in  a  suppressed 
tone,  as  if  his  grief  might  receive  the  punishment  of  crime. 
The  Puritan,  whose  approach  had  been  unperceived,  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  child's  shoulder,  and  addressed  him 
compassionately. 


•80  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  You  have  chosen  a  dreary  lodging,  my  poor  boy, 
and  no  wonder  that  you  weep,"  said  he.  "But  dry 
your  eyes,  and  tell  me  where  your  mother  dwells.  I 
promise  you  if  the  journey  be  not  too  far,  I  will  leave 
you  in  her  arms  to-night." 

The  boy  had  hushed  his  wailing  at  once,  and  turned 
his  face  upward  to  the  stranger.  It  was  a  pale,  bright- 
eyed  countenance,  certainly  not  more  than  six  years 
old,  but  sorrow,  fear,  and  want  had  destroyed  much  of 
its  infantile  expression.  The  Puritan,  seeing  the  boy's 
frightened  gaze,  and  feeling  that  he  trembled  under  his 
hand,  endeavored  to  reassure  him. 

"Nay,  if  I  intended  to  do  you  harm,  little  lad,  the 
readiest  way  were  to  leave  you  here.  What !  you  do 
not  fear  to  sit  beneath  the  gallows  on  a  new-made  grave, 
and  yet  you  tremble  at  a  friend's  touch.  Take  heart, 
child,  and  tell  me  what  is  your  name,  and  where  is  your 
home !  " 

"Friend,"  replied  the  little  boy,  in  a  sweet,  though 
faltering  voice,  "  they  call  me  Ilbrahim,  and  my  home  is 
here." 

The  pale,  spiritual  face,  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  mingle 
with  the  moonlight,  the  sweet  airy  voice,  and  the  out- 
landish name  almost  made  the  Puritan  believe  that  the 
boy  was  in  truth  a  being  which  had  sprung  up  out  of 
the  grave  on  which  he  sat.  But  perceiving  that  the  ap- 
parition stood  the  test  of  a  short  mental  prayer,  and 
remembering  that  the  arm  which  he  had  touched  was 
life-like,  he  adopted  a  more  rational  supposition.  "  The 
poor  child  is  stricken  in  his  intellect,"  thought  he,  "  but 
verily  his  words  are  fearful,  in  a  place  like  this."  He 
then  spoke  soothingly,  intending  to  humor  the  boy's 
fantasy. 

"  Your  home  will  scarce  be  comfortable,   Ilbrahim, 


THE    GEXTLE    BOY.  81 

this  cold  autumn  night,  and  I  fear  you  are  ill  provided 
with  food.  I  am  hastening  to  a  warm  supper  and  bed, 
and  if  you  will  go  with  me,  you  shall  share  them !  " 

"  I  thank  thee,  friend,  but  though  I  be  hungry,  and 
shivering  with  cold,  thou  wilt  not  give  me  food  nor 
lodging,"  replied  the  boy,  in  the  quiet  tone  which  de- 
spair had  taught  him,  even  so  young.  "  My  father  was 
of  the  people  whom  all  men  hate.  They  have  laid  him 
under  this  heap  of  earth,  and  here  is  my  home." 

The  Puritan,  who  had  Izfld  hold  of  little  Ilbrahim's 
hand,  relinquished  it  as  if  he  were  touching  a  loathsome 
reptile.  But  he  possessed  a  compassionate  heart,  which 
not  even  religious  prejudice  could  harden  into  stone. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  leave  this  child  to  perish, 
though  he  comes  of  the  accursed  sect,"  said  he  to  him- 
self. "  Do  we  not  all  spring  from  an  evil  root  ?  Are 
we  not  all  in  darkness  till  the  light  doth  shine  upon  us  ? 
He  shall  not  perish,  neither  in  body,  nor,  if  prayer  and 
instruction  may  avail  for  him,  in  soul."  He  then  spoke 
aloud  and  kindly  to  Ilbrahim,  who  had  again  hid  his  face 
in  the  cold  earth  of  the  grave.  "  Was  every  door  in  the 
land  shut  against  you,  my  child,  that  you  have  wandered 
to  this  unhallowed  spot  ?  " 

"  They  drove  me  forth  from  the  prison  when  they  took 
my  father  thence,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  I  stood  afar  off, 
watching  the  crowd  of  people ;  and  when  they  were  gone, 
I  came  hither,  and  found  only  this  grave.  I  knew  that 
my  father  was  sleeping^  here,  and  I  said,  This  shall  be  my 
home." 

"No,  child,  no;  not  while  I  have  a  roof  over  my 
head,  or  a  morsel  to  share  with  you!"  exclaimed  tlie 
Puritan,  whose  sympathies  were  now  fully  excited. 
"  Rise  up  and  come  with  me,  and  fear  not  any  harm." 

The  boy  wept  afresh,  and  clung  to  the  heap  of  earth, 
4* 


82  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

as  if  the  cold  heart  beneath  it  were  warmer  to  him  than 
any  in  a  living  breast.  The  traveller,  however,  continued 
to  entreat  him  tenderly,  and  seeming  to  acquire  some 
degree  of  confidence,  he  at  length  arose.  But  his  slen- 
der limbs  tottered  with  weakness,  his  little  head  grew 
dizzy,  and  he  leaned  against  the  tree  of  death  for  support. 

"My  poor  boy,  are  you  so  feeble  ?  "  said  the  Puritan. 
"  When  did  you  taste  food  last  ?  " 

"I  ate  of  bread  and  water  with  my  father  in  the 
prison,"  replied  Ilbrahim,  "-but  they  brought  him  none 
neither  yesterday  nor  to-day,  saying  that  he  had  eaten 
enough  to  bear  him  to  his  journey's  end.  Trouble  not 
thyself  for  my  hunger,  kind  friend,  for  I  have  lacked 
food  many  times  ere  now." 

The  traveller  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  wrapped 
his  cloak  about  him,  while  his  heart  stirred  with  shame 
and  anger  against  the  gratuitous  cruelty  of  the  instru- 
ments in  this  persecution.  In  the  awakened  warmth  of 
his  feelings,  he  resolved  that,  at  whatever  risk,  he  would 
not  forsake  the  poor  little  defenceless  being  whom 
Heaven  had  confided  to  his  care.  With  this  determina- 
tion, he  left  the  accursed  field,  and  resumed  the  home- 
ward path  from  which  the  wailing  of  the  boy  had  called 
him.  The  light  and  motionless  burden  scarcely  impeded 
his  progress,  and  he  soon  beheld  the  fire  rays  from  the 
windows  of  the  cottage  which  he,  a  native  of  a  distant 
clime,  had  built  in  the  Western  wilderness.  It  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  considerable  extent^  of  cultivated  ground, 
and  the  dwelling  Avas  situated  in  the  nook  of  a  wood- 
covered  hill,  whither  it  seemed  to  have  crept  for  pro- 
tection. 

"Look  up,  child,"  said  the  Puritan  to  Ilbrahim, 
whose  faint  head  had  sunk  upon  his -shoulder,  "there 
is  our  home." 


THE    GENTLE   BOY.  83 

At  the  word  "home,"  a  thrill  passed  through  the 
child's  frame,  but  he  continued  silent.  A  few  moments 
brought  them  to  the  cottage-door,  at  which  the  owner 
knocked ;  for  at  that  early  period,  when  savages  were 
wandering  everywhere  among  the  settlers,  bolt  and  bar 
were  indispensable  to  the  security  of  a  dwelling.  The 
summons  was  answered  by  a  bond-servant,  a  coarse-clad 
and  dull-featured  piece  of  humanity,  who,  after  ascer- 
taining that  his  master  was  the  applicant,  undid  the  door, 
and  held  a  flaring  pine-knot  torch  to  light  him  in. 
Farther  back  in  the  passage-way,  the  red  blaze  discov- 
ered a  matronly  woman,  but  no  little  crowd  of  children, 
came  bounding  forth  to  greet  their  father's  return.  As 
the  Puritan  entered,  he  thrust  aside  his  cloak,  and  dis- 
played Ilbrahim's  face  to  the  female. 

"  Dorothy,  here  is  a  little  outcast  whom  Providence 
hath  put  into  our  hands,"  observed  he.  "Be  kind  to 
him,  even  as  if  he  were  of  those  dear  ones  who  have 
departed  from  us." 

"  What  pale  and  bright-eyed  little  boy  is  this,  Tobias  ?  " 
she  inquired.  "  Is  he  one  whom  the  wilderness  folk  have 
ravished  from  some  Christian  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  Dorothy,  this  poor  child  is  no  captive  from  the 
wilderness,"  he  replied.  "  The  heathen  savage  would 
have  given  him  to  eat  of  his  scanty  morsel,  and  to  drink 
of  his  birchen  cup ;  but  Christian  men,  alas !  had  cast 
him  out  to  die." 

Then  he  told  her  how  he  had  found  him  beneath  the 
gallows,  upon  his  father's  grave  ;  and  how  his  heart  had 
prompted  him,  like  the  speaking  of  an  inward  voice,  to 
take  the  little  outcast  home,  and  be  kind  unto  him.  He 
acknowledged  his  resolution  to  feed  and  clothe  him,  as  if 
he  were  his  own  child,  and  to  afford  him  the  instruction 
which  should  counteract  the  pernicious  errors  hitherto 


84  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

instilled  into  his  infant  mind.  Dorothy  was  gifted  with 
even  a  quicker  tenderness  than  her  husband,  and  she 
approved  of  all  his  doings  and  intentions. 

"  Have  you  a  mother,  dear  child  ?  "  she  inquired. 

The  tears  burst  forth  from  his  full  heart,  as  he  at- 
tempted to  reply ;  but  Dorothy  at  length  understood  that 
he  had  a  mother,  who,  like  the  rest  of  her  sect,  was  a 
persecuted  wanderer.  She  had  been  taken  from  the 
prison  a  short  time  before,  carried  into  the  uninhabited 
wilderness,  and  left  to  perish  there  by  hunger  or  wild 
beasts.  This  was  no  uncommon  method  of  disposing  of 
the  Quakers,  and  they  were  accustomed  to  boast,  that 
the  inhabitants  of  the  desert  were  more  hospitable  to 
them  than  civilized  man. 

"Fear  not,  little  boy,  you  shall  not  need  a  mother, 
and  a  kind  one,"  said  Dorothy,  when  she  had  gathered 
this  information.  "  D*ry  your  tears,  Ilbrahim,  and  be  my 
child,  as  I  will  be  your  mother." 

The  good  woman  prepared  the  little  bed,  from  which 
her  own  children  had  successively  been  borne  to  another 
resting-place.  Before  Ilbrahim  would  consent  to  occupy 
it,  he  knelt  down,  and  as  Dorothy  listened  to  his  simple 
and  affecting  prayer,  she  marvelled  how  the  parents  that 
had  taught  it  to  him  could  have  been  judged  worthy  of 
death.  When  the  boy  had  fallen  asleep,  she  bent  over 
his  pale  and  spiritual  countenance,  pressed  a  kiss  upon 
his  white  brow,  drew  the  bedclothes  up  about  his  neck,  „ 
and  went  away  with  a  pensive  gladness  in  her  heart. 

Tobias  Pearson  was  not  among  the  earliest  emigrants 
from  the  old  country.  He  had  remained  in  England 
during  the  first  years  of  the  civil  war,  in  which  he  had 
borne  some  share  as  a  comet  of  dragoons,  under  Crom- 
well. But  when  the  ambitious  designs  of  his  leader 
began  to  develop  themselves,  he  quitted  the  army  of  the 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  85 

Parliament,  and  sought  a  refuge  from  the  strife,  which 
was  no  longer  holy,  among  the  people  of  his  persuasion 
in  the  colony  of  Massachusetts.  A  more  worldly  con- 
sideration had  perhaps  an  influence  in  drawing  him 
thither ;  for  New  England  offered  advantages  to  men  of 
unprosperous  fortunes,  as  Avell  as  to  dissatisfied  religion- 
ists, and  Pearson  had  hitherto  found  it  difficult  to  provide 
for  a  wife  and  increasing  family.  To  this  supposed  im- 
purity of  motive,  the  more  bigoted  Puritans  were  inclined 
to  impute  the  removal  by  death  of  all  the  children,  for 
whose  earthly  good  the  father  had  been  over-thoughtful. 
They  had  left  their  native  country  blooming  like  roses, 
and  like  roses  they  had  perished  in  a  foreign  soil.  Those 
expounders  of  the  ways  of  Providence,  who  had  thus 
judged  their  brother,  and  attributed  his  domestic  sorrows 
to  his  sin,  were  not  more  charitable  when  they  saw  him 
and  Dorothy  endeavoring  to  fill  up  the  void  in  their 
hearts  by  the  adoption  of  an  infant  of  the  accursed  sect. 
Nor  did  they  fail  to  communicate  their  disapprobation  to 
Tobias ;  but  the  latter,  in  reply,  merely  pointed  at  the 
little,  quiet,  lovely  boy,  whose  appearance  and  deport- 
ment were  indeed  as  powerful  arguments  as  could  pos- 
sibly  have  been  adduced  in  his  own  favor.  Even  his 
beauty,  however,  and  his  winning  manners,  sometimes 
produced  an  effect  ultimately  unfavorable ;  for  the  bigots, 
when  the  outer  surfaces  of  their  iron  hearts  had  been 
softened  and  again  grew  hard,  affirmed  that  no  merely 
natural  cause  could  have  so  worked  upon  them. 

Their  antipathy  to  the  poor  infant  was  also  increased 
by  the  ill  success  of  divers  theological  discussions,  in 
which  it  was  attempted  to  convince  him  of  the  errors  of 
his  sect,  llhrahim,  it  is  true,  was  not  a  skilful  contro- 
versialist; but  the  feeling  of  his  religion  was  strong  as 
instinct  in  him,  and  he  could  neither  be  enticed  nor 


86  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

driven  from  the  faith  which  his  father  had  died  for.  The 
odium  of  this  stubbornness  was  shared  in  a  great  meas- 
ure by  the  child's  protectors,  insomuch  that  Tobias  and 
Dorothy  very  shortly  began  to  experience  a  most  bitter 
species  of  persecution,  in  the  cold  regards  of  many  a 
friend  whom  they  had  valued.  The  common  people 
manifested  their  opinions  more  openly.  Pearson  was  a 
man  of  some  consideration,  being  a  representative  to  the 
General  Court,  and  an  approved  lieutenant  in  the  train- 
bands ;  yet  within  a  week  after  his  adoption  of  Ilbrahim, 
he  had  been  both  hissed  and  hooted.  Once,  also,  when 
walking  through  a  solitary  piece  of  woods,  he  heard  a 
loud  voice  from  some  invisible  speaker;  and  it  cried, 
"  What  shall  be  done  to  the  backslider  ?  Lo !  the  scourge 
is  knotted  for  him,  even  the  whip  of  nine  cords,  and 
every  cord  three  knots  !  "  These  insults  irritated  Pear- 
son's temper  for  the  moment ;  they  entered  also  into  his 
heart,  and  became  imperceptible  but  powerful  workers 
towards  an  end  which  his  most  secret  thought  had  not 
yet  whispered. 

*  *  *  *  * 

On  the  second  Sabbath  after  Ilbrahim  became  a  mem- 
ber of  their  family,  Pearson  and  his  wife  deemed  it  proper 
that  he  should  appear  with  them  at  public  worship.  They 
had  anticipated  some  opposition  to  this  measure  from  the 
boy,  but  he  prepared  himself  in  silence,  and  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  was  clad  in  the  new  mourning  suit  which 
Dorothy  had  wrought  for  him.  As  the  parish  was  then, 
and  during  many  subsequent  years,  unprovided  with  a 
bell,  the  signal  for  the  commencement  of  religious  exer- 
cises was  the  beat  of  a  drum.  At  the  first  sound  of  that 
martial  call  to  the  place  of  holy  and  quiet  thoughts, 
Tobias  and  Dorothy  set  forth,  each  holding  a  hand  of 
little  Ilbrahim,  like  two  parents  linked  together  by  the 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  87 

infant  of  their  love.  On  their  path  through  the  leafless 
woods,  they  were  overtaken  by  many  persons  of  their 
acquaintance,  all  of  whom  avoided  them,  and  passed  by 
on  the  other  side ;  but  a  severer  trial  awaited  their  con- 
stancy when  they  had  descended  the  hill,  and  drew  near 
the  pine-built  and  undecorated  house  of  prayer.  Around 
the  door,  from  which  the  drummer  still  sent  forth  his 
thundering  summons,  was  drawn  up  a  formidable  pha- 
lanx, including  several  of  the  oldest  members  of  the  con- 
gregation, many  of  the  middle  aged,  and  nearly  all  the 
younger  males.  Pearson  found  it  difficult  to  sustain, 
their  united  and  disapproving  gaze  ;  but  Dorothy,  whoso 
mind  was  differently  circumstanced,  merely  drew  the  boy 
closer  to  her,  and  faltered  not  in  her  approach.  As  they 
entered  the  door,  they  overheard  the  muttered  sentiments 
of  the  assemblage,  and  when  the  reviling  voices  of  the 
little  children  smote  Ilbrahim's  ear,  he  wept. 

The  interior  aspect  of  the  meeting-house  was  rude. 
The  low  ceiling,  the  unplastered  walls,  the  naked  wood- 
work, and  the  undraperied  pulpit  offered  nothing  to  ex- 
cite the  devotion,  which,  without  such  external  aids,  often 
remains  latent  in  the  heart.  The  floor  of  the  building 
was  occupied  by  rows  of  long,  cushionless  benches,  sup- 
plying the  place  of  pews,  and  the  broad  aisle  formed  a 
sexual  division,  impassable  except  by  children  beneath  a 
certain  age. 

Pearson  and  Dorothy  separated  at  the  door  of  the 
meeting-house,  and  Ilbrahim,  being  within  the  years  of 
infancy,  was  retained  under  the  care  of  the  latter.  The 
wrinkled  beldams  involved  themselves  in  their  rusty 
cloaks  as  he  passed  by ;  even  the  mild-featured  maidens 
seemed  to  dread  contamination;  and  many  a  stern  old 
man  arose,  and  turned  his  repulsive  and  unheavenly 
countenance  upou  the  gentle  boy,  as  if  the  sanctuary  were 


88  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

polluted  by  his  presence.  He  was  a  sweet  infant  of  the 
skies,  that  had  strayed  away  from  his  home,  and  all  the 
inhabitants  of  this  miserable  world  closed  up  their  impure 
hearts  against  him,  drew  back  their  earth-soiled  garments 
from  his  touch,  and  said,  "  We  are  holier  than  thou." 

Ilbrahim,  seated  by  the  side  of  his  adopted  mother, 
and  retaining  fast  hold  of  her  hand,  assumed  a  grave  and 
decorous  demeanor,  such  as  might  befit  a  person  of 
matured  taste  and  understanding,  who  should  find  him- 
self in  a  temple  dedicated  to  some  worship  which  he  did 
not  recognize,  but  felt  himself  bound  to  respect.  The 
exercises  had  not  yet  commenced,  however,  when  the 
boy's  attention  was  arrested  by  an  event,  apparently  of 
trifling  interest.  A  woman,  having  her  face  muffled  in  a 
hood,  and  a  cloak  drawn  completely  about  her  form, 
advanced  slowly  up  the  broad  aisle,  and  took  a  place  upon 
the  foremost  bench.  Ilbrahim's  faint  color  varied,  his 
nerves  fluttered,  he  was  unable  to  turn  his  eyes  from  the 
muffled  female. 

When  the  preliminary  prayer  and  hymn  were  over,  the 
minister  arose,  and  having  turned  the  hour-glass  which 
stood  by  the  great  Bible,  commenced  his  discourse.  He 
was  now  well  stricken  in  years,  a  man  of  pale,  thin 
countenance,  and  his  gray  hairs  were  closely  covered  by 
a  black  velvet  skullcap.  In  his  younger  days  he  had 
practically  learned  the  meaning  of  persecution  from  Arch- 
bishop Laud,  and  he  was  not  now  disposed  to  forget  the 
lesson  against  which  he  had  murmured  then.  Introducing 
the  oftenrdiscussed  subject  of  the  Quakers,  he  gave  a 
history  of  that  sect,  and  a  description  of  their  tenets,  in 
which  error  predominated,  and  prejudice  distorted  the 
aspect  of  what  was  true.  He  adverted  to  the  recent 
measures  in  the  province,  and  cautioned  his  hearers  of 
weaker  parts  against  calling  in  question  the  just  severity, 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  89 

which  God-fearing  magistrates  had  at  length  been  com- 
pelled to  exercise.  He  spoke  of  the  danger  of  pity,  in 
some  cases  a  commendable  and  Christian  virtue,  but  in- 
applicable to  this  pernicious  sect.  He  observed  that 
such  was  their  devilish  obstinacy  in  error,  that  even  the 
little  children,  the  sucking  babes,  were  hardened  and 
desperate  heretics.  He  affirmed  that  no  man,  without 
Heaven's  especial  warrant,  should  attempt  their  con- 
version, lest  while  he  lent  his  hand  to  draw  them  from 
the  slough,  he  should  himself  be  precipitated  into  its 
lowest  depths. 

The  sands  of  the  second  hour  were  principally  in  the 
lower  half  of  the  glass,  when  the  sermon  concluded.  An 
approving  murmur  followed,  and  the  clergyman,  having 
given  out  a  hymn,  took  his  seat  with  much  self-con- 
gratulation, and  endeavored  to  read  the  effect  of  his 
eloquence  in  the  visages  of  the  people.  But  while  voices 
from  all  parts  of  the  house  were  tuning  themselves  to 
sing,  a  scene  occurred,  which,  though  not  very  unusual 
at  that  period  in  the  province,  happened  to  be  without 
precedent  in  this  parish. 

The  muffled  female,  who  had  hitherto  sat  motionless  in 
the  front  rank  of  the  audience,  now  arose,  and  with  slow, 
stately,  and  unwavering  step  ascended  the  pulpit  stairs. 
The  quiverings  of  incipient  harmony  were  hushed,  and  the 
divine  sat  in  speechless  and  almost  terrified  astonishment, 
while  she  undid  the  door,  and  stood  up  in  the  sacred  desk 
from  which  his  maledictions  had  just  been  thundered. 
She  then  divested  herself  of  the  cloak  and  hood,  and 
appeared  in  a  most  singular  array.  A  shapeless  robe  of 
sackcloth  was  girded  about  her  waist  with  a  knotted 
cord  ;  her  raven  hair  fell  down  upon  her  shoulders,  and 
its  blackness  was  defiled  by  pale  streaks  of  ashes,  which 
she  had  strewn  upon  her  head.  Her  eyebrows,  dark  and 


90  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

strongly  defined,  added  to  the  deatLly  whiteness  of  a 
countenance,  which,  emaciated  with  want,  and  wild  with 
enthusiasm  and  strange  sorrows,  retained  no  trace  of 
earlier  beauty.  This  figure  stood  gazing  earnestly  on  the 
audience,  and  there  was  no  sound,  nor  any  movement, 
except  a  faint  shuddering  which  every  man  observed  in 
his  neighbor,  but  was  scarcely  conscious  of  in  himself. 
At  length,  when  her  fit  of  inspiration  came,  she  spoke, 
for  the  first  few  moments,  in  a  low  voice,  and  not  in- 
variably distinct  utterance.  Her  discourse  gave  evidence 
of  an  imagination  hopelessly  entangled  with  her  reason ; 
it  was  a  vague  and  incomprehensible  rhapsody,  which, 
however,  seemed  to  spread  its  own  atmosphere  round  the 
hearer's  soul,  and  to  move  his  feelings  by  some  influence 
unconnected  with  the  words.  As  she  proceeded,  beauti- 
ful but  shadowy  images  would  sometimes  be  seen,  like 
bright  things  moving  in  a  turbid  river ;  or  a  strong  and 
singularly  shaped  idea  leaped  forth,  and  seized  at  once  on 
the  understanding  or  the  heart.  But  the  course  of  her 
unearthly  eloquence  soon  led  her  to  the  persecutions  of 
her  sect,  and  from  thence  the  step  was  short  to  her  own 
peculiar  sorrows.  She  was  naturally  a  woman  of  mighty 
passions,  and  hatred  and  revenge  now  wrapped  themselves 
in  the  garb  of  piety ;  the  character  of  her  speech  was 
changed,  her  images  became  distinct  though  wild,  and 
her  denunciations  had  an  almost  hellish  bitterness. 

"  The  governor  and  his  mighty  men,"  she  said,  "  have 
gathered  together,  taking  counsel  among  themselves  and 
saying,  'What  shall  we  do  unto  this  people,  —  even  unto 
the  people  that  have  come  into  this  land  to  put  our  in- 
iquity to  the  blush  ? '  And  lo  !  the  Devil  entereth  into 
the  council-chamber,  like  a  lame  man  of  low  stature  and 
gravely  apparelled,  with  a  dark  and  twisted  countenance, 
and  a  bright,  downcast  eye.  And  he  standeth  up  among 


THE    GEN-TLE    BOY.  91 

the  rulers ;  yea,  he  goeth  to  and  fro,  whispering  to  each ; 
and  every  man  lends  his  ear,  for  his  word  is,  '  Slay,  slay  ! ' 
But  I  say  unto  ye,  Woe  to  them  that  slay !  Woe  to 
them  that  shed  the  blood  of  saints  !  Woe  to  them  that 
have  slain  the  husband,  and  cast  forth  the  child,  the 
tender  infant,  to  wander  homeless,  and  hungry,  and  cold, 
till  he  die;  and  have  saved  the  mother  alive,  in  the 
cruelty  of  their  tender  mercies  !  Woe  to  them  in  their 
lifetime,  cursed  are  they  in  the  delight  and  pleasure  of 
their  hearts  !  Woe  to  them  in  their  death-hour,  whether 
it  come  swiftly  with  blood  and  violence,  or  after  long  and 
lingering  pain  !  Woe,  in  the  dark  house,  in  the  rotten- 
ness of  the  grave,  when  the  children's  children  shall  re- 
vile the  ashes  of  the  fathers !  Woe,  woe,  woe,  at  the 
judgment,  when  all  the  persecuted  and  all  the  slain  in 
this  bloody  land,  and  the  father,  the  mother,  and  the 
child  shall  await  them  in  a  day  that  they  cannot  escape  ! 
Seed  of  the  faith,  seed  of  the  faith,  ye  whose  hearts  are 
moving  with  a  power  that  ye  know  not,  arise,  wash  your 
hands  of  this  innocent  blood !  Lift  your  voices,  chosen 
ones,  cry  aloud,  and  call  down  a  woe  and  a  judgment 
with  me !  " 

Having  thus  given  vent  to  the  flood  of  malignity  which 
she  mistook  for  inspiration,  the  speaker  was  silent.  Her 
voice  was  succeeded  by  the  hysteric  shrieks  of  several 
women,  but  the  feelings  of  the  audience  generally  had 
not  been  drawn  onward  in  the  current  with  her  own. 
They  remained  stupefied,  stranded  as  it  were,  in  the  midst 
of  a  torrent,  which  deafened  them  by  its  roaring,  but 
might  not  move  them  by  its  violence.  The  clergyman, 
who  could  not  hitherto  have  ejected  the  usurper  of  his 
pulpit  otherwise  than  by  bodily  force,  now  addressed  her 
in  the  tone  of  just  indignation  and  legitimate  authority. 

"Get  you  down,  woman,  from  the  holy  place  which 


92  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

you  profane,"  lie  said.  "  Is  it  to  the  Lord's  house  that 
you  come  to  pour  forth  the  foulness  of  your  heart,  and 
the  inspiration  of  the  Devil  ?  Get  you  down,  and  remem- 
ber that  the  sentence  of  death  is  on  you,  yea,  and  shall 
be  executed,  were  it  but  for  this  day's  work !  " 

"  I  go,  friend,  I  go,  for  the  voice  hath  had  its  utter- 
ance," replied  she,  in  a  depressed  and  even  mild  tone. 
"  I  have  done  my  mission  unto  thee  and  to  thy  people. 
Reward  me  with  stripes,  imprisonment,  or  death,  as  ye 
shall  be  permitted." 

The  weakness  of  exhausted  passion  caused  her  steps 
to  totter  as  she  descended  the  pulpit  stairs.  The  people, 
in  the  mean  while,  were  stirring  to  and  fro  on  the  floor 
of  the  house,  whispering  among  themselves,  and  glancing 
towards  the  intruder.  Many  of  them  now  recognized 
her  as  the  woman  who  had  assaulted  the  governor  with 
frightful  language,  as  he  passed  by  the  window  of  her 
prison ;  they  knew,  also,  that  she  was  adjudged  to  suffer 
death,  and  had  been  preserved  only  by  an  involuntary 
banishment  into  the  wilderness.  The  new  outrage,  by 
which  she  had  provoked  her  fate,  seemed  to  render  fur- 
ther lenity  impossible  ;  and  a  gentleman  in  military  dress, 
with  a  stout  man  of  inferior  rank,  drew  towards  the  door 
of  the  meeting-house,  and  awaited  her  approach.  Scarcely 
did  her  feet  press  the  floor,  however,  when  an  unexpected 
scene  occurred.  In  that  moment  of  her  peril,  when  every 
eye  frowned  with  death,  a  little  timid  boy  pressed  forth, 
and  threw  his  arms  round  his  mother. 

"  I  am  here,  mother,  it  is  I,  and  I  will  go  with  thee  to 
prison,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  doubtful  and  almost  frightened 
expression,  for  she  knew  that  the  boy  had  been  cast  out 
to  perish,  and  she  had  not  hoped  to  see  his  face  again. 
She  feared,  perhaps,  that  it  was  but  one  of  the  happy 


THE   GENTLE   BOY.  93 

visions,  with  which  her  excited  fancy  had  often  deceived 
her,  in  the  solitude  of  the  desert  or  in  prison.  But  when 
she  felt  his  hand  warm  within  her  own,  and  heard  his 
little  eloquence  of  childish  love,  she  began  to  know  that 
she  was  yet  a  mother. 

"  Blessed  art  thou,  my  son,"  she  sobbed.  "  My  heart 
was  withered ;  yea,  dead  with  thee  and  with  thy  father ; 
and  now  it  leaps  as  in  the  first  moment  when  I  pressed 
thee  to  my  bosom." 

She  knelt  down  and  embraced  him  again  and  again, 
while  the  joy  that  could  find  no  words  expressed  itself 
in  broken  accents,  like  the  bubbles  gushing  up  to  vanish 
at  the  surface  of  a  deep  fountain.  The  sorrows  of  past 
years,  and  the  darker  peril  that  was  nigh,  cast  not  a 
shadow  on  the  brightness  of  that  fleeting  moment.  Soon, 
however,  the  spectators  saw  a  change  upon  her  face,  as 
the  consciousness  of  her  sad  estate  returned,  and  grief 
.supplied  the  fount  of  tears  which  joy  had  opened.  By 
the  words  she  uttered,  it  would  seem  that  the  indulgence 
of  natural  love  had  given  her  mind  a  momentary  sense 
of  its  errors,  and  inade  her  know  how  far  she  had  strayed 
from  duty,  in  following  the  dictates  of  a  wild  fanaticism. 

"In  a  doleful  hour  art  thou  returned  to  me,  poor  boy," 
she  said,  "  for  thy  mother's  path  has  gone  darkening  on- 
ward, till  now  the  end  is  death.  Son,  son,  I  have  borne 
thee  in  my  arms  when  my  limbs  were  tottering,  and  I 
have  fed  thee  with  the  food  that  I  was  fainting  for ;  yet 
I  have  ill  performed  a  mother's  part  by  thee  in  life,  and 
now  I  leave  thee  no  inheritance  but  woe  and  shame. 
Thou  wilt  go  seeking  through  the  world,  and  find  all  hearts 
closed  against  thee,  and  their  sweet  affections  turned  to 
bitterness  for  my  sake.  My  child,  my  chiJd,  how  many  a 
pang  awaits  thy  gentle  spirit,  and  I  the  cause  of  all !  " 

She  hid  her  face  on  Ilbrahim's  head,  and  her  long 


94  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

raven  hair,  discolored  with  the  ashes  of  her  mourning, 
fell  down  about  him  like  a  veil.  A  low  and  interrupted 
moan  was  the  voice  of  her  heart's  anguish,  and  it  did  not 
fail  to  move  the  sympathies  of  many  who  mistook  their 
involuntary  virtue  for  a  sin.  Sobs  were  audible  in  the 
female  section  of  the  house,  and  every  man  who  was  a 
father  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes.  Tobias  Pearson 
was  agitated  and  uneasy,  but  a  certain  feeling  like  the 
consciousness  of  guilt  oppressed  him,  so  that  he  could 
not  go  forth  and  offer  himself  as  the  protector  of  the 
child.  Dorothy,  however,  had  watched  her  husband's  eye. 
Her  mind  was  free  from  the  influence  that  had  begun  to 
work  on  his,  and  she  drew  near  the  Quaker  woman,  and 
addressed  her  in  the  hearing  of  all  the  congregation. 

"Stranger,  trust  this  boy  to  me,  and  I  will  be  his 
mother,"  she  said,  taking  Ilbrahim's  hand.  "  Provi- 
dence has  signally  marked  out  my  husband  to  protect 
him,  and  he  has  fed  at  our  table  and  lodged  under  our 
roof,  now  many  days,  till  our  hearts  have  grown  very 
strongly  unto  him.  Leave  the  tender  child  with  us,  and 
be  at  ease  concerning  his  welfare." 

The  Quaker  rose  from  the  ground,  but  drew  the  boy 
closer  to  her,  while  she  gazed  earnestly  in  Dorothy's 
face.  Her  mild,  but  saddened  features,  and  neat  matron- 
ly attire  harmonized  together,  and  were  like  a  verse  of 
fireside  poetry.  Her  very  aspect  proved  that  she  was 
blameless,  so  far  as  mortal  could  be  so,  in  respect  to  God 
and  man ;  while  the  enthusiast,  in  her  robe  of  sackcloth 
and  girdle  of  knotted  cord,  had  as  evidently  violated  the 
duties  of  the  present  life  and  the  future,  by  fixing  her  at- 
tention wholly ^on  the  latter.  The  two  females,  as  they1 
held  each  a  hand  of  Ilbrahim,  formed  a  practical  alle- 
gory ;  it  was  rational  piety  and  unbridled  fanaticism 
contending  for  the  empire  of  a  young  heart. 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  95 

"  Thou  art  not  of  our  people,"  said  the  Quaker,  mourn- 
fully. 

"  No,  we  are  not  of  your  people,"  replied  Dorothy,  "with 
mildness,  "  but  we  are  Christians,  looking  upward  to  the 
same  Heaven  with  you.  Doubt  not  that  your  boy  shall 
meet  you  there,  if  there  be  a  blessing  on  our  tender  and 
prayerful  guidance  of  him.  Thither,  I  trust,  my  own 
children  have  gone  before  me,  for  I  also  have  been  a 
mother ;  I  am  no  longer  so,"  she  added,  in  a  faltering 
tone,  "  and  your  son  will  have  all  my  care." 

"  But  will  ye  lead  him  in  the  path  which  his  parents 
have  trodden  ?  "  demanded  the  Quaker.  "  Can  ye  teach 
him  the  enlightened  faith  which  his  father  has  died  for, 
and  for  which  I,  even  I,  am  soon  to  become  an  unworthy 
martyr  ?  The  boy  has  been  baptized  in  blood ;  will  ye 
keep  the  mark  fresh  and  ruddy  upon  his  forehead  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  deceive  you,"  answered  Dorothy.  "  If 
your  child  become  our  child,  we  must  breed  him  up  in 
the  instruction  which  Heaven  has  imparted  to  us;  we 
must  pray  for  him  the  prayers  of  our  own  faith;  we 
must  do  towards  him  according  to  the  dictates  of  our 
own  consciences,  and  not  of  yours.  Were  we  to  act 
otherwise,  we  should  abuse  your  trust,  even  in  complying 
with  your  wishes." 

The  mother  looked  down  upon  her  boy  with  a  troubled 
countenance,  and  then  turned  her  eyes  upward  to  Heav- 
en. She  seemed  to  pray  internally,  and  the  contention 
of  her  soul  was  evident. 

"  Friend,"  she  said  at  length  to  Dorothy,  "  I  doubt 
not  that  my  son  shall  receive  all  earthly  tenderness  at  thy 
hands.  Nay,  I  will  believe  that  even  thy  imperfect  lights 
may  guide  him  to  a  better  world ;  for  surely  thou  art  on 
the  path  thither.  But  thou  hast  spoken  of  a  husband. 
Doth  he  stand  here  among  this  multitude  of  people? 


96  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Let  him  come  forth,  for  I  must  know  to  whom  I  commit 
this  most  precious  trust." 

She  turned  her  face  upon  the  male  auditors,  and  after 
a  momentary  delay,  Tobias  Pearson  came  forth  from 
among  them.  The  Quaker  saw  the  dress  which  marked 
his  military  rank,  and  shook  her  head ;  but  then  she 
noted  the  hesitating  air,  the  eyes  that  struggled  with  her 
own,  and  were  vanquished ;  the  color  that  went  and  came, 
and  could  find  no  resting-place.  As  she  gazed,  an  un- 
mirthful  smile  spread  over  her  features,  like  sunshine 
that  grows  melancholy  in  some  desolate  spot.  Her  lips 
moved  iuaudibly,  but  at  length  she  spake. 

"  I  hear  it,  I  hear  it.  The  voice  speaketh  within  me 
and  saith,  'Leave  thy  child,  Catharine,  for  his  place  is 
here,  and  go  hence,  for  I  have  other  work  for  thee. 
Break  the  bonds  of  natural  affection,  martyr  thy  love, 
and  know  that  in  all  these  things  eternal  wisdom  hath  its 
ends.'  I  go,  friends,  I  go.  Take  ye  my  boy,  my  pre- 
cious jewel.  I  go  hence,  trusting  that  all  shall  be  well, 
and  that  even  for  his  infant  hands  there  is  a  labor  in  the 
vineyard." 

She  knelt  down  and  whispered  to  Ilbrahim,  who  at 
first  struggled  and  clung  to  his  mother,  with  sobs  and 
tears,  but  remained  passive  when  she  had  kissed  his 
cheek  and  arisen  from  the  ground.  Having  held  her 
hands  over  his  head  in  mental  prayer,  she  was  ready  to 
depart. 

"Farewell,  friends  in  mine  extremity,"  she  said  to 
Pearson  and  his  wife  ;  "  the  good  deed  ye  have  done  me 
is  a  treasure  laid  up  in  Heaven,  to  be  returned  a  thou- 
sand-fold hereafter.  And  farewell  ye,  mine  enemies,  to 
whom  it  is  not  permitted  to  harm  so  much  as  a  hair  of 
my  head,  nor  to  stay  my  footsteps  even  for  a  moment. 
The  day  is  coming  when  ye  shall  call  upon  me  to  witness 


THE    GENTLE   BOY.  97 

for  ye  to  this  one  sin  uncommitted,  and  I  will  rise  up 
and  answer." 

She  turned  her  steps  towards  the  door,  and  the  men, 
who  had  stationed  themselves  to  guard  it,  withdrew,  and 
suffered  her  to  psss.  A  general  sentiment  of  pity  over- 
came the  virulence  of  religious  hatred.  Sanctified  by  her 
love  and  her  affliction,  she  went  forth,  and  all  the  people 
gazed  after  her  till  she  had  journeyed  up  the  hill,  and 
was  lost  behind  its  brow.  She  went,  the  apostle  of  her 
own  unquiet  heart,  to  renew  the  wanderings  of  past 
years.  For  her  voice  had  been  already  heard  in  many 
lauds  of  Christendom  ;  and  she  had  pined  in  the  cells  of 
a  Catholic  Inquisition  before  she  felt  the  lash,  and  lay  in, 
the  dungeons  of  the  Puritans.  Her  mission  had  ex- 
tended also  to  the  followers  of  the  Prophet,  and  from  them 
she  had  received  the  courtesy  and  kindness  which  all 
the  contending  sects  of  our  purer  religion  united  to  deny 
her.  Her  husband  and  herself  had  resided  many  months 
in  Turkey,  where  even  the  Sultan's  countenance  was 
gracious  to  them  ;  in  that  pagan  land,  too,  was  Ilbrahim's 
birthplace,  and  his  Oriental  name  was  a  mark  of  gratitude 
for  the  good  deeds  of  an  unbeliever. 

***** 

When  Pearson  and  his  wife  had  thus  acquired  all  the 
rights  over  Ilbrahim  that  could  be  delegated,  their  affec- 
tion for  him  became,  like  the  memory  of  their  native 
land,  or  their  mild  sorrow  for  the  dead,  a  piece  of  the 
immovable  furniture  of  their  hearts.  The  boy,  also, 
afiiT  a  week  or  two  of  mental  disquiet,  began  to  gratify 
his  protectors,  by  many  inadvertent  proofs  that  he  con- 
sidered them  as  parents,  and  their  house  as  home.  Be- 
fore the  winter  snows  were  melted,  the  persecuted  infant, 
the  little  wanderer  from  a  remote  and  heathen  country, 
seemed  native  in  the  New  England  cottage,  and  insepara- 


98  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ble  from  the  warmth  and  security  of  its  hearth.  Under 
the  influence  of  kind  treatment,  and  in  the  consciousness 
that  he  was  loved,  Ilbrahim's  demeanor  lost  a  premature 
manliness  which  had  resulted  from  his  earlier  situation ; 
he  became  more  childlike,  and  his  natural  character  dis- 
played itself  with  freedom.  It  was  in  many  respects  a 
beautiful  one,  yet  the  disordered  imaginations  of  both  his 
father  and  mother  had  perhaps  propagated  a  certain  un- 
healthiness  in  the  mind  of  the  boy.  In  his  general  state, 
Ilbrahim  would  derive  enjoyment  from  the  most  trifling 
events,  and  from  every  object  about  him ;  he  seemed  to 
discover  rich  treasures  of  happiness,  by  a  faculty  analo- 
gous to  that  of  the  witch-hazel,  which  points  to  hidden 
gold  where  all  is  barren  to  the  eye.  His  airy  gayety, 
coming  to  him  from  a  thousand  sources,  communicated 
itself  to  the  family,  and  Ilbrahim  was  like  a  domesticated 
sunbeam,  brightening  moody  countenances,  and  chasing 
away  the  gloom  from  the  dark  corners  of  the  cottage. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  susceptibility  of  pleasure 
is  also  that  of  pain,  the  exuberant  cheerfulness  of  the 
boy's  prevailing  temper  sometimes  yielded  to  moments 
of  deep  depression.  His  sorrows  could  not  always  be 
followed  up  to  their  original  source,  but  most  frequently 
they  appeared  to  flow,  though  Ilbrahim  was  young  to 
be  sad  for  such  a  cause,  from  wounded  love.  The  flighti- 
ness  of  his  mirth  rendered  him  often  guilty  of  offences 
against  the  decorum  of  a  Puritan  household,  and  on 
these  occasions  he  did  not  invariably  escape  rebuke. 
But  the  slightest  word  of  real  bitterness,  which  he  was 
infallible  in  distinguishing  from  pretended  anger,  seemed 
to  sink  into  his  heart  and  poison  all  his  enjoyments,  till 
he  became  sensible  that  he  was  entirely  forgiven.  Of 
the  malice,  which  generally  accompanies  a  superfluity 
of  sensitiveness,  Ilbrahim  was  altogether  destitute ;  when 


THE   GENTLE   BOY.  99 

trodden  upon,  he  would  not  turn;  when  wounded,  he 
could  but  die.  His  mind  was  wanting  in  the  stamina 
for  self-support ;  it  was  a  plant  that  would  twine  beau- 
tifully round  something  stronger  than  itself,  but  if  re- 
pulsed, or  torn  away,  it  had  no  choice  but  to  wither 
on  the  ground.  Dorothy's  acuteness  taught  her  that 
severity  would  crush  the  spirit  of  the  child,  and  she 
nurtured  him  with  the  gentle  care  of  one  who  handles 
a  butterfly.  Her  husband  manifested  an  equal  affec- 
tion, although  it  grew  daily  less  productive  of  familiar 
caresses. 

The  feelings  of  the  neighboring  people,  in  regard  to 
the  Quaker  infant  and  his  protectors,  had  not  undergone 
a  favorable  change,  in  spite  of  the  momentary  triumph 
which  the  desolate  mother  had  obtained  over  their  sym- 
pathies. The  scorn  and  bitterness,  of  which  he  was  the 
object,  were  very  grievous  to  Ilbrahim,  especially  when 
any  circumstance  made  him  sensible  that  the  children, 
his  equals  in  age,  partook  of  the  enmity  of  their  parents. 
His  tender  and  social  nature  had  already  overflowed  in 
attachments  to  everything  about  him,  and  still  there  was 
a  residue  of  unappropriated  love,  which  he  yearned  to 
bestow  upon  the  little  ones  who  were  taught  to  hate  him. 
As  the  warm  days  of  spring  came  on,  Ilbrahim  was  ac- 
customed to  remain  for  hours,  silent  and  inactive,  within 
hearing  of  the  children's  voices  at  their  play;  yet,  with 
his  usual  delicacy  of  feeling,  he  avoided  their  notice,  and 
would  flee  and  hide  himself  from  the  smallest  individual 
among  them.  Chance,  however,  at  length  seemed  to 
open  a  medium  of  communication  between  his  heart  and 
theirs ;  it  was  by  means  of  a  boy  about  two  years  older 
than  Ilbrahim,  who  was  injured  by  a  fall  from  a  tree  in 
the  vicinity  of  Pearson's  habitation.  As  the  sufferer's 
own  home  was  at  some  distance,  Dorothy  willingly  re- 


100  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ceived  him  under  her  roof,  and  became  his  tender  and 
careful  nurse. 

Ilbrahim  was  the  unconscious  possessor  of  much  skill 
in  physiognomy,  and  it  would  have  deterred  him,  in 
other  circumstances,  from  attempting  to  make  a  friend 
of  this  boy.  The  countenance  of  the  latter  immediately 
impressed  a  beholder  disagreeably,  but  it  required  some 
examination  to  discover  that  the  cause  was  a  very  slight 
distortion  of  the  mouth,  and  the  irregular,  broken  line 
and  near  approach  of  the  eyebrows.  Analogous,  per- 
haps, to  these  trifling  deformities,  was  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible twist  of  every  joint,  and  the  uneven  prominence 
of  the  breast ;  forming  a  body,  regular  in  its  general  out- 
line, but  faulty  in  almost  all  its  details.  The  disposition 
of  the  boy  was  sullen  and  reserved,  and  the  village  school- 
master stigmatized  him  as  obtuse  in  intellect ;  although, 
at  a  later  period  of  life,  he  evinced  ambition  and  very 
peculiar  talents.  But  whatever  might  be  his  personal 
or  moral  irregularities,  Ilbrahim's  heart  seized  upon,  and 
clung  to  him,  from  the  moment  that  he  was  brought 
wounded  into  the  cottage;  the  child  of  persecution 
seemed  to  compare  his  own  fate  with  that  of  the  suf- 
ferer, and  to  feel  that  even  different  modes  of  misfortune 
had  created  a  sort  of  relationship  between  them.  Food, 
rest,  and  the  fresh  air,  for  which  he  languished,  were 
neglected ;  he  nestled  continually  by  the  bedside  of  the 
little  stranger,  and,  with  a  fond  jealousy,  endeavored  to 
be  the  medium  of  all  the  cares  that  were  bestowed  upon 
him.  As  the  boy  became  convalescent,  Ilbrahim  con- 
trived games  suitable  to  his  situation,  or  amused  him  by 
a  faculty  which  he  had  perhaps  breathed  in  with  the 
air  of  his  barbaric  birthplace.  It  was  that  of  reciting 
imaginary  adventures,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and 
apparently  in  inexhaustible  succession.  His  tales  were 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  101 

of  course  monstrous,  disjointed,  and  without  aim;  but 
they  were  curious  on  account  of»  a  vein  of  human  ten- 
derness, which  ran  through  them  all,  and  was  like  a 
sweet,  familiar  face,  encountered  in  the  midst  of  wild 
and  unearthly  scenery.  The  auditor  paid  much  atten- 
tion to  these  romances,  and  sometimes  interrupted  them 
by  brief  remarks  upon  the  incidents,  displaying  shrewd- 
ness above  his  years,  mingled  with  a  moral  obliquity 
which  grated  very  harshly  against  Ilbrahim's  instinctive 
rectitude.  Nothing,  however,  could  arrest  the  progress 
of  the  latter's  affection,  and  there  were  many  proofs  that 
it  met  with  a  response  from  the  dark  and  stubborn  na- 
ture on  which  it  was  lavished.  The  boy's  parents  at 
length  removed  him,  to  complete  his  cure  under  their 
own  roof. 

Ilbrahim  did  not  visit  his  new  friend  after  his  de- 
parture; but  he  made  anxious  and  continual  inquiries 
respecting  him,  and  informed  himself  of  the  day  when 
he  was  to  reappear  among  his  playmates.  On  a  pleas- 
-ant  summer  afternoon,  the  children  of  the  neighborhood 
had  assembled  in  the  little  forest-crowned  amphitheatre 
behind  the  meeting-house,  and  the  recovering  invalid 
was  there,  leaning  on  a  staff.  The  glee  of  a  score  of 
untainted  bosoms  was  heard  in  light  and  airy  voices, 
which  danced  among  the  trees  like  sunshine  become 
audible;  the  grown  men  of  this  weary  world,  as  they 
journeyed  by  the  spot,  marvelled  why  life,  beginning 
in  such  brightness,  should  proceed  in  gloom ;  and  their 
hearts,  or  their  imaginations,  answered  them  and  said, 
that  the  bliss  of  childhood  gushes  from  its  innocence. 
But  it  happened  that  an  unexpected  addition  was  made 
to  the  heavenly  little  band.  It  was  Ilbrahim,  who  came 
towards  the  children  with  a  look  of  sweet  confidence 
on  his  fair  and  spiritual  face,  as  if,  having  manifested 


102  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Ms  love  to  one  of  them,  he  had  no  longer  to  fear  a 
repulse  from  their  society.  A  hush  came  over  their 
mirth  the  moment  they  beheld  him,  and  they  stood 
whispering  to  each  other  while  he  drew  nigh ;  but,  all 
at  once,  the  devil  of  their  fathers  entered  into  the  un- 
breeched  fanatics,  and  sending  up  a  fierce,  shrill  cry, 
they  rushed  upon  the  poor  Quaker  child.  In  an  instant, 
he  was  the  centre  of  a  brood  of  baby-fiends,  who  lifted 
sticks  against  him,  pelted  him  with  stones,  and  dis- 
played ail  instinct  of  destruction  far  more  loathsome 
than  the  bloodthirstiness  of  manhood. 

The  invalid,  in  the  mean  while,  stood  apart  from  the 
tumult,  crying  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Fear  not,  Ilbra- 
him,  come  hither  and  take  my  hand  "  ;  and  his  unhappy 
friend  endeavored  to  obey  him.  After  watching  the  vic- 
tim's struggling  approach,  with  a  calm  smile  and  un- 
abashed eye,  the  foul-hearted  little  villain  lifted  his 
staff,  and  struck  Ilbrahitn  on  the  mouth,  so  forcibly 
that  the  blood  issued  in  a  stream.  The  poor  child's 
arms  had  been  raised  to  guard  his  head  from  the  storm 
of  blows  ;  but  now  he  dropped  them  at  once.  His  per- 
secutors beat  him  down,  trampled  upon  him,  dragged 
him  by  his  long,  fair  locks,  and  Ilbrahim  was  on  the 
point  of  becoming  as  veritable  a  martyr  as  ever  entered 
bleeding  into  heaven.  The  uproar,  however,  attracted 
the  notice  of  a  few  neighbors,  who  put  themselves  to 
the  trouble  of  rescuing  the  little  heretic,  and  of  convey- 
ing him  to  Pearson's  door. 

Ilbrahim's  bodily  harm  was  severe,  but  long  and  care- 
ful nursing  accomplished  his  recovery ;  the  injury  done 
to  his  sensitive  spirit  was  more  serious,  though  not  so 
visible.  Its  signs  wei-e  principally  of  a  negative  charac- 
ter, and  to  be  discovered  only  by  those  who  had  previ- 
ously known  him.  His  gait  was  thenceforth  slow,  even, 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  103 

and  unvaried  by  the  sudden  bursts  of  sprightlier  mo- 
tion, which  had  once  corresponded  to  his  overflowing 
gladness ;  his  countenance  was  heavier,  and  its  former 
play  of  expression,  the  dance  of  sunshine  reflected  from 
moving  water,  was  destroyed  by  the  cloud  over  his  ex- 
istence ;  his  notice  was  attracted  in  a  far  less  degree  by 
passing  events,  and  he  appeared  to  find  greater  difficulty 
in  comprehending  what  was  new  to  him,  than  at  a  hap- 
pier period.  A  stranger,  founding  his  judgment  upon 
these  circumstances,  would  have  said  that  the  dulness 
of  the  child's  intellect  widely  contradicted  the  promise 
of  his  features;  but  the  secret  was  in  the  direction  of 
Ilbrahim's  thoughts,  which  were  brooding  within  him 
when  they  should  naturally  have  been  wandering  abroad. 
An  attempt  of  Dorothy  to  revive  his  former  sportiveness 
was  the  single  occasion  on  which  his  quiet  demeanor 
yielded  to  a  violent  display  of  grief ;  he  burst  into  pas- 
sionate weeping,  and  ran  and  hid  himself,  for  his  heart 
had  become  so  miserably  sore,  that  even  the  hand  of 
kindness  tortured  it  like  fire.  Sometimes,  at  night  and 
probably  in  his  dreams,  he  was  heard  to  cry,  "  Mother ! 
mother ! "  as  if  her  place,  which  a  stranger  had  sup- 
plied while  Ilbrahim  was  happy,  admitted  of  no  substi- 
tute in  his  extreme  affliction.  Perhaps,  among  the  many 
life-weary  wretches  then  upon  the  earth,  there  was  not 
one  who  combined  innocence  and  misery  like  this  poor, 
broken-hearted  infant,  so  soon  the  victim  of  his  own. 
heavenly  nature. 

While  this  melancholy  change  had  taken  place  in 
Ilbrahim,  one  of  an  earlier  origin  and  of  diiferent  char- 
acter had  come  to  its  perfection  in  his  adopted  father. 
The  incident  with  which  this  tale  commences  found 
Pearson  in  a  state  of  religious  dulness,  yet  mentally 
disquieted,  and  longing  for  a  more  fervid  faith  than  he 


104  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

possessed.  The  first  effect  of  his  kindness  to  Hbrahim 
was  to  produce  a  softened  feeling,  and  incipient  love 
for  the  child's  whole  sect ;  but  joined  to  this,  and  re- 
sulting perhaps  from  self-suspicion,  was  a  proud  and 
ostentatious  contempt  of  their  tenets  and  practical  ex- 
travagances. In  the  course  of  much  thought,  however, 
for  the  subject  struggled  irresistibly  into  his  mind,  the 
foolishness  of  the  doctrine  began  to  be  less  evident,  and 
the  points  which  had  particularly  offended  his  reason 
assumed  another  aspect,  or  vanished  entirely  away.  The 
work  within  him  appeared  to  go  on  even  while  he  slept, 
and  that  which  had  been  a  doubt,  when  he  laid  down  to 
rest,  would  often  hold  the  place  of  a  truth,  confirmed 
by  some  forgotten  demonstration,  when  he  recalled  his 
thoughts  in  the  morning.  But  while  he  was  thus  be- 
coming assimilated  to  the  enthusiasts,  his  contempt,  in 
no  wise  decreasing  towards  them,  grew  very  fierce 
against  himself;  he  imagined,  also,  that  every  face  of 
his  acquaintance  wore  a  sneer,  and  that  every  word 
addressed  to  him  was  a  gibe.  Such  was  his  state  of 
mind  at  the  period  of  Ilbrahim's  misfortune;  and  the 
emotions  consequent  upon  that  event  completed  the 
change,  of  which  the  child  had  been  the  original  instru- 
ment. 

Iii  the  mean  time,  neither  the  fierceness  of  the  perse- 
cutors, nor  the  infatuation  of  their  victims,  had  decreased. 
The  dungeons  were  never  empty ;  the  streets  of  almost 
every  village  echoed  daily  with  a  lash ;  the  life  of  a 
woman,  whose  mild  and  Christian  spirit  no  cruelty  could 
imbitter,  had  been  sacrificed ;  and  more  innocent  blood 
was  yet  to  pollute  the  hands  that  were  so  often  raised  in 
prayer.  Early  after  the  Restoration,  the  English  Qua- 
kers represented  to  Charles  II.  that  a  "  vein  of  blood  was 
open  in  his  dominions  " ;  but  though  the  displeasure  of 


THE    GENTLE   BOY,  105 

the  voluptuous  king  was  roused,  his  interference  was  not 
prompt.  And  now  the  tale  must  stride  forward  over 
many  months,  leaving  Pearson  to  encounter  ignominy 
and  misfortune ;  his  wife  to  a  firm  endurance  of  a  thou- 
sand sorrows;  poor  Ilbrahim  to  pine  and  droop  like  a 
cankered  rosebud ;  his  mother  to  wander  on  a  mistaken 
errand,  neglectful  of  the  holiest  trust  which  can  be  com- 
mitted to  a  woman. 

***** 

A  winter  evening,  a  night  of  storm,  had  darkened  over 
Pearson's  habitation,  and  there  were  no  cheerful  faces  to 
drive  the  gloom  from  his  broad  hearth.  The  fire,  it  is 
true,  sent  forth  a  glowing  heat  and  a  ruddy  light,  and 
large  logs,  dripping  with  half-melted  snow,  lay  ready  to 
be  cast  upon  the  embers.  But  the  apartment  was  sad- 
dened in  its  aspect  by  the  absence  of  much  of  the  homely 
wealth  which  had  once  adorned  it ;  for  the  exaction  of 
repeated  fines,  and  his  own  neglect  of  temporal  affairs, 
had  greatly  impoverished  the  owner.  And  with  the  fur- 
niture of  peace,  the  implements  of  war  had  likewise  dis- 
appeared ;  the  sword  was  broken,  the  helm  and  cuirass 
were  cast  away  forever ;  the  soldier  had  done  with  bat- 
tles, and  might  not  lift  so  much  as  his  naked  hand  to 
guard  his  head.  But  the  Holy  Book  remained,  and  the 
table  on  which  it  rested  was  drawn  before  the  fire,  while 
two  of  the  persecuted  sect  sought  comfort  from  its  pages. 

He  who  listened,  while  the  other  read,  was  the  master 
of  the  house,  now  emaciated  in  form,  and  altered  as  to 
the  expression  and  healthiness  of  his  countenance ;  for 
his  mind  had  dwelt  too  long  among  visionary  thoughts, 
and  his  body  had  been  worn  by  imprisonment  and  stripes. 
The  hale  and  weather-beaten  old  man,  who  cat  beside 
him,  had  sustained  less  injury  from  a  far  longer  course  of 
the  same  mode  of  life.  In  person  he  >vas  tall  and  digni- 


106  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

fied,  and,  which  alone  would  have  made  him  hateful  to 
the  Puritans,  his  gray  locks  fell  from  beneath  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  rested  on  his  shoulders.  As  the  old 
man  read  the  sacred  page,  the  snow  drifted  against  the 
windows,  or  eddied  in  at  the  crevices  of  the  door,  while  a 
blast  kept  laughing  in  the  chimney,  and  the  blaze  leaped 
fiercely  up  to  seek  it.  And  sometimes,  when  the  wind 
struck  the  hill  at  a  certain  angle,  and  swept  down  by  the 
cottage  across  the  wintry  plain,  its  voice  was  the  most 
doleful  that  can  be  conceived;  it  came  as  if  the  Past 
were  speaking,  as  if  the  Dead  had  contributed  each  a 
whisper,  as  if  the  Desolation  of  Ages  were  breathed  in 
that  one  lamenting  sound. 

The  Quaker  at  length  closed  the  book,  retaining  however 
his  hand  between  the  pages  which  he  had  been  reading, 
while  he  looked  steadfastly  at  Pearson.  The  attitude 
and  features  of  the  latter  might  have  indicated  the  en- 
durance of  bodily  pain;  he  leaned  his  forehead  on  his 
hands,  his  teeth  were  firmly  closed,  and  his  frame  was 
tremulous  at  intervals  with  a  nervous  agitation. 

"Friend  Tobias,"  inquired  the  old  man,  compassion- 
ately, "  hast  thou  found  no  comfort  in  these  many  blessed 
passages  of  Scripture  ?  " 

"  Thy  voice  has  fallen  on  my  ear  like  a  sound  afar  off 
and  indistinct,"  replied  Pearson,  without  lifting  his  eyes. 
"  Yea,  and  when  I  have  hearkened  carefully,  the  words 
seemed  cold  and  lifeless,  and  intended  for  another  and  a 
lesser  grief  than  mine.  Remove  the  book,"  he  added,  in 
a  tone  of  sullen  bitterness.  "  I  have  no  part  in  its  con- 
solations, and  they  do  but  fret  my  sorrow  the  more." 

"  Nay,  feeble  brother,  be  not  as  one  who  hath  never 
known  the  light,"  said  the  elder  Quaker,  earnestly,  but 
with  mildness.  "  Art  thou  he  that  wouldst  be  content  to 
give  all,  and  endure  all,  for  conscience'  sake ;  desiring  even 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  107 

peculiar  trials,  that  thy  faith  might  be  purified,  and  thy 
heart  weaned  from  worldly  desires  ?  And  wilt  thou  sink 
beneath  an  affliction  which  happens  alike  to  them  that  have 
their  portion  here  below,  and  to  them  that  lay  up  treasure 
in  heaven  ?  Faint  not,  for  thy  burden  is  yet  light." 

"  It  is  heavy  !  It  is  heavier  than  I  can  bear !  "  ex- 
claimed Pearson,  with  the  impatience  of  a  variable  spirit. 
"  From  my  youth  upward  I  have  been  a  man  marked  out 
for  wrath ;  and  year  by  year,  yea,  day  after  day,  I  have 
endured  sorrows,  such  as  others  know  not  in  their  life- 
time. And  now  I  speak  not  of  the  love  that  has  been 
turned  to  hatred,  the  honor  to  ignominy,  the  ease  and 
plentifulness  of  all  things  to  danger,  want,  and  nakedness. 
All  this  I  could  have  borne,  and  counted  myself  blessed. 
But  when  my  heart  was  desolate  with  many  losses,  I 
fixed  it  upon  the  child  of  a  stranger,  and  he  became 
dearer  to  me  than  all  my  buried  ones ;  and  now  he  too 
must  die,  as  if  my  love  were  poison.  Verily,  I  am  an 
accursed  man,  and  I  will  lay  me  down  in  the  dust,  and 
lift  up  my  head  no  more." 

"  Thou  sinnest,  brother,  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  rebuke 
thee ;  for  I  also  have  had  my  hours  of  darkness,  wherein 
I  have  murmured  against  the  cross,"  said  the  old  Quaker. 
He  continued,  perhaps  in  the  hope  of  distracting  his 
companion's  thoughts  from  his  own  sorrows.  "  Even  of 
late  was  the  light  obscured  within  me,  when  the  men  of 
blood  had  banished  me  on  pain  of  death,  and  the  consta- 
bles led  me  onward  from  village  to  village,  towards  the 
wilderness.  A  strong  and  cruel  hand  was  wielding  the 
knotted  cords ;  they  sunk  deep  into  the  flesh,  and  thou 
mightst  have  tracked  every  reel  and  totter  of  my  foot- 
steps by  the  blood  that  followed.  As  we  went  on  —  " 

"  Have  I  not  borne  all  this ;  and  have  I  murmured  ?  " 
interrupted  Pearson,  impatiently. 


108  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Nay,  friend,  but  hear  me/'  continued  the  other.  "  As 
we  journeyed  on,  night  darkened  on  our  path,  so  that  no 
man  could  see  the  rage  of  the  persecutors,  or  the  con- 
stancy of  my  endurance,  though  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  glory  therein.  The  lights  began  to  glimmer  in 
the  cottage  windows,  and  I  could  discern  the  inmates  as 
they  gathered  in  comfort  and  security,  every  man  with 
his  wife  and  children  by  their  own  evening  hearth. 
At  length  we  came  to  a  tract  of  fertile  land;  in  the 
dim  light,  the  forest  was  not  visible  around  it;  and 
behold !  there  was  a  straw-thatched  dwelling,  which  bore 
the  very  aspect  of  my  home,  far  over  the  wild  ocean,  far 
in  our  own  England.  Then  came  bitter  thoughts  upon 
me ;  yea,  remembrances  that  were  like  death  to  my  soul. 
The  happiness  of  my  early  days  was  painted  to  me  ;  the 
disquiet  of  my  manhood,  the  altered  faith  of  my  decking 
years.  I  remembered  how  1  had  been  moved  to  go  forth 
a  wanderer,  when  my  daughter,  the  youngest,  the  dearest 
of  my  flock,  lay  on  her  dying  bed,  and  — 

"  Couldst  thou  obey  the  command  at  such  a  mo- 
ment ?  "  exclaimed  Pearson,  shuddering. 

"  Yea,  yea,"  replied  the  old  man,  hurriedly.  "  I  was 
kneeling  by  her  bedside  when  the  voice  spoke  loud 
within  me ;  but  immediately  I  rose,  and  took  my  staff, 
and  gat  me  gone.  O,  that  it  were  permitted  me  to 
forget  her  woful  look,  when  I  thus  withdrew  my  arm, 
and  left  her  journeying  through  the  dark  valley  alone ! 
for  her  soul  was  faint,  and  she  had  leaned  upon  my 
prayers.  Now  in  that  night  of  horror  I  was  assailed  by 
the  thought  that  I  had  been  an  erring  Christian,  and  a 
cruel  parent ;  yea,  even  my  daughter,  with  her  pale, 
dying  features,  seemed  to  stand  by  me  and  whisper, 
'Father,  you  are  deceived;  go  home  and  shelter  your 
gray  head.'  O  Thou,  to  whom  I  have  looked  in  my 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  109 

farthest  wanderings,"  continued  the  Quaker,  raising  his 
agitated  eyes  to  Heaven,  "  inflict  not  upon  the  bloodiest 
of  our  persecutors  the  unmitigated  agony  of  my  soul, 
when  I  believed  that  all  I  had  done  and  suffered  for 
thee  was  at  the  instigation  of  a  mocking  fiend !  But  I 
yielded  uot ;  I  knelt  down  and  wrestled  with  the  tempter, 
while  the  scourge  bit  more  fiercely  into  the  flesh.  My 
prayer  was  heard,  and  I  went  on  in  peace  and  joy  to- 
wards the  wilderness." 

The  old  man,  though  his  fanaticism  had  generally  all 
the  calmness  of  reason,  was  deeply  moved  while  reciting 
this  tale ;  and  his  unwonted  emotion  seemed  to  rebuke 
and  keep  down  that  of  his  companion.  They  sat  in 
silence,  with  their  faces  to  the  fire,  imagining  perhaps, 
in  its  red  embers,  new  scenes  of  persecution  yet  to  be 
encountered.  The  snow  still  drifted  hard  against  the 
windows,  and  sometimes,  as  the  blaze  of  the  logs  had 
gradually  sunk,  came  down  the  spacious  chimney  and 
hissed  upon  the  hearth.  A  cautious  footstep  might  now 
and  then  be  heard  in  a  neighboring  apartment,  and  the 
sound  invariably  drew  the  eyes  of  both  Quakers  to  the 
door  which  led  thither.  When  a  fierce  and  riotous  gust 
of  wind  had  led  his  thoughts,  by  a  natural  association,  to 
homeless  travellers  on  such.a  night,  Pearson  resumed  the 
conversation. 

"  I  have  wellnigh  sunk  under  my  own  share  of  this 
trial,"  observed  he,  sighing  heavily ;  "  yet  I  would  that  it 
might  be  doubled  to  me,  if  so  the  child's  mother  could 
be  spared.  Her  wounds  have  been  deep  and  many,  but 
this  will  be  the  sorest  of  all." 

"  Fear  not  for  Catharine,"  replied  the  old  Quaker, 
"  for  I  know  that  valiant  woman,  and  have  seen  how  she 
can  bear  the  cross.  A  mother's  heart,  indeed,  is  strong 
in  her,  and  may  seeni(to  contend  mightily  with  her  faith 


110  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

but  soon  she  will  stand  up  and  give  thanks  that  her  son 
has  been  thus  early  an  accepted  sacrifice.  The  boy  hath 
done  his  work,  and  she  will  feel  that  he  is  taken  hence 
in  kindness  both  to  him  and  her.  Blessed,  blessed  are 
they  that  with  so  little  suffering  can  enter  into  peace  1  " 

The  fitful  rush  of  the  wind  was  now  disturbed  by  a 
portentous  sound ;  it  was  a  quick  and  heavy  knocking 
at  the  outer  door.  Pearson's  wan  countenance  grew 
paler,  for  many  a  visit  of  persecution  had  taught  him 
what  to  dread;  the  old  man,  on  the  other  hand,  stood 
up  erect,  and  his  glance  was  firm  as  that  of  the  tried 
soldier  who  awaits  his  enemy. 

"The  men  of  blood  have  come  to  seek  me,"  he  ob- 
served, with  calmness.  "They  have  heard  how  I  was 
moved  to  return  from  banishment ;  and  now  am  I  to  be 
led  to  prison,  and  thence  to  death.  It  is  an  end  I  have 
long  looked  for.  I  will  open  unto  them,  lest  they  say, 
'  Lo,  he  feareth ! '  " 

"  Nay,  I  will  present  myself  before  them,"  said  Pear- 
son, with  recovered  fortitude.  "It  may  be  that  they 
seek  me  alone,  and  know  not  that  thou  abidest  with 
me." 

"Let  us  go  boldly,  both  one  and  the  other,"  rejoined 
his  companion.  "  It  is  not  fitting  that  thou  or  I  should 
shrink." 

They  therefore  proceeded  through  the  entry  to  the 
door,  which  they  opened,  bidding  the  applicant,  "  Come 
in,  in  God's  name  !  "  A  furious  blast  of  wind  drove  the 
storm  into  their  faces,  and  extinguished  the  lamp ;  they 
had  barely  time  to  discern  a  figure,  so  white  from  head 
to  foot  with  the  drifted  snow,  that  it  seemed  like  Win- 
ter's self,  come  in  human  shape  to  seek  refuge  from  its 
own  desolation. 

"  Enter,  friend,  and  do  thy  errand,  be  it  what  it  may," 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  Ill 

said  Pearson.  "  It  must  needs  be  pressing,  since  thou 
comest  on  such  a  bitter  night." 

"Peace  be  with  this  household,"  said  the  stranger, 
when  they  stood  on  the  floor  of  the  inner  apartment. 

Pearson  started,  the  elder  Quaker  stirred  the  slum- 
bering embers  of  the  fire,  till  they  sent  up  a  clear  and 
lofty  blaze ;  it  was  a  female  voice  that  had  spoken ;  it 
was  a  female  form  that  shone  out,  cold  and  wintry,  in 
that  comfortable  light. 

"  Catharine,  blessed  woman,"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
"art  thou  come  to  this  darkened  land  again?  art  thou 
come  to  bear  a  valiant  testimony  as  in  former  years  ? 
The  scourge  hath  not  prevailed  against  thee,  and  from 
the  dungeon  hast  thou  come  forth  triumphant;  but 
strengthen,  strengthen  now  thy  heart,  Catharine,  for 
Heaven  will  prove  thee  yet  this  once,  ere  thou  go  to  thy 
reward." 

"Rejoice,  friends!"  she  replied.  "Thou  who  hast 
long  been  of  our  people,  and  thou  whom  a  little  child 
hath  led  to  us,  rejoice  !  Lo  !  I  come,  the  messenger  of 
glad  tidings,  for  the  day  of  persecution  is  overpast. 
The  heart  of  the  king,  even  Charles,  hath  been  moved 
in  gentleness  towards  us,  and  he  hath  sent  forth  his 
letters  to  stay  the  hands  of  the  men  of  blood.  A  ship's 
company  of  our  friends  hath  arrived  at  yonder  town,  and 
I  also  sailed  joyfully  among  them." 

As  Catharine  spoke,  her  eyes  were  roaming  about  the 
room,  in  search  of  him  for  whose  sake  security  was 
dear  to  her.  Pearson  made  a  silent  appeal  to  the  old 
man,  nor  did  the  latter  shrink  from  the  painful  task  as- 
signed him. 

"  Sister,"  he  began,  in  a  softened  yet  perfectly  calm 
tone,  "  thou  tellest  us  of  His  love,  manifested  in  temporal 
good ;  and  now  must  we  speak  to  thee  of  that  self-same 


112  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

love,  displayed  in  chastenings.  Hitherto,  Catharine, 
thou  hast  been  as  one  journeying  in  a  darksome  and 
difficult  path,  and  leading  an  infant  by  the  hand;  fain 
wouldst  thou  have  looked  heavenward  continually,  but 
still  the  cares  of  that  little  child  have  drawn  thine  eyes 
and  thy  affections  to  the  earth.  Sister !  go  on  rejoicing, 
for  his  tottering  footsteps  shall  impede  thine  own  no 
more." 

But  the  unhappy  mother  was  not  thus  to  be  consoled ; 
she  shook  like  a  leaf,  she  turned  white  as  the  very  snow 
that  hung  drifted  into  her  hair.  The  firm  old  man  ex- 
tended his  hand  and  held  her  up,  keeping  his  eye  upon 
hers,  as  if  to  repress  any  outbreak  of  passion. 

"  I  am  a  woman,  I  am  but  a  woman;  will  He  try  me  above 
my  strength  ?  "  said  Catharine  very  quickly,  and  almost  in 
a  whisper.  "  I  have  been  wounded  sore  ;  I  have  suffered 
much ;  many  things  in  the  body,  many  in  the  mind ; 
crucified  in  myself,  and  in  them  that  were  dearest  to  me. 
Surely,"  added  she,  with  a  long  shudder,  "He  hath 
spared  me  in  this  one  thing."  She  broke  forth  with  sud- 
den and  irrepressible  violence,  "Tell  me,  man  of  cold 
heart,  what  has  God  done  to  me?  Hath  he  cast  me 
down,  never  to  rise  again  ?  Hath  he  crushed  my  very 
heart  in  his  hand  ?  And  thou,  to  whom  I  committed  my 
child,  how  hast  thou  fulfilled  thy  trust  ?  Give  me  back 
the  boy,  well,  sound,  alive,  alive ;  or  earth  and  Heaven 
shall  avenge  me  !  " 

The  agonized  shriek  of  Catharine  was  answered  by  the 
faint,  the  very  faint  voice  of  a  child. 

On  this  day  it  had  become  evident  to  Pearson,  to  his 
aged  guest,  and  to  Dorothy  that  Ilbrahim's  brief  and 
troubled  pilgrimage  drew  near  its  close.  The  two  former 
would  willingly  have  remained  by  him,  to  make  use  of  the 
prayers  and  pious  discourses  which  they  deemed  appro- 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  113 

priate  to  the  time,  and  which,  if  they  be  impotent  as  to 
the  departing  traveller's  reception  in  the  world  whither  it 
goes,  may  at  least  sustain  him  in  bidding  adieu  to  earth. 
But  though  Ilbrahim  uttered  no  complaint,  he  was  dis- 
turbed by  the  faces  that  looked  upon  him  ;  so  that  Doro- 
thy's entreaties,  and  their  own  conviction  that  the  child's 
feet  might  tread  heaven's  pavement  and  not  soil  it,  had 
induced  the  two  Quakers  to  remove.  Ilbrahim  then 
closed  his  eyes  and  grew  calm,  and,  except  for  now  and 
then  a  kind  and  low  word  to  his  nurse,  might  have  been 
thought  to  slumber.  As  nightfall  came  on,  however,  and 
the  storm  began  to  rise,  something  seemed  to  trouble  the 
repose  of  the  boy's  mind,  and  to  render  his  sense  of 
hearing  active  and  acute.  If  a  passing  wind  lingered  to 
shake  the  casement,  he  strove  to  turn  his  head  towards  it ; 
if  the  door  jarred  to  and  fro  upon  its  hinges,  he  looked 
long  and  anxiously  thitherward  ;  if  the  heavy  voice  of  the 
old  man,  as  he  read  the  Scriptures,  rose  but  a  little  higher, 
the  child  almost  held  his  dying  breath  to  listen ;  if  a  snow- 
drift swept  by  the  cottage,  with  a  sound  like  the  trailing 
of  a  garment,  Ilbrahim  seemed  to  watch  that  some  visi- 
tant should  enter. 

But,  after  a  little  time,  he  relinquished  whatever  secret 
hope  had  agitated  him,  and,  with  one  low,  complaining 
whisper,  turned  his  cheek  upon  the  pillow.  He  then 
addressed  Dorothy  with  his  usual  sweetness,  and  besought 
her  to  draw  near  him ;  she  did  so,  and  Ilbrahim  took  her 
hand  iu  both  of  his,  grasping  it  with  a  gentle  pressure,  as 
if  to  assure  himself  that  he  retained  it.  At  intervals,  and 
without  disturbing  the  repose  of  his  countenance,  a  very 
faint  trembling  passed  over  him  from  head  to  foot,  as  if 
a  mild  but  somewhat  cool  wind  had  breathed  upon  him, 
and  made  him  shiver.  As  the  boy  thus 'led  her  by  the 
Laud,  in  his  quiet  progress  over  the  borders  of  eternity, 


114  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Dorothy  almost  imagined  that  she  could  discern  the  near, 
though  dim  delightfulness  of  the  home  he  was  about  to 
reach;  she  would  not  have  enticed  the  little  wanderer 
back,  though  she  bemoaned  herself  that  she  must  leave 
him  and  return.  But  just  when  Ilbrahim's  feet  were 
pressing  on  the  soil  of  Paradise,  he  heard  a  voice  behind 
him,  and  it  recalled  him  a  few,  few  paces  of  the  weary 
path  which  he  had  travelled.  As  Dorothy  looked  upon 
his  features,  she  perceived  that  their  placid  expression 
was  again  disturbed;  her  own  thoughts  had  been  so 
wrapped  in  him,  that  all  sounds  of  the  storm,  and  of 
human  speech,  were  lost  to  her;  but  when  Catharine's 
shriek  pierced  through  the  room,  the  boy  strove  to  raise 
himself. 

"  Friend,  she  is  come  !     Open  unto  her !  "  cried  he. 

In  a  moment,  his  mother  was  kneeling  by  the  bedside  ; 
she  drew  Ilbrahim  to  her  bosom,  and  he  nestled  there, 
with  no  violence  of  joy,  but  contentedly,  as  if  he  were 
hushing  himself  to  sleep.  He  looked  into  her  face,  and 
reading  its  agony,  said,  with  feeble  earnestness,  "  Mourn 
not,  dearest  mother.  I  am  happy  now."  And  with  these 
words,  the  gentle  boy  was  dead. 

***** 

The  king's  mandate  to  stay  the  New  England  perse- 
cutors was  effectual  in  preventing  further  martyrdoms ; 
but  the  colonial  authorities,  trusting  in  the  remoteness  of 
their  situation,  and  perhaps  in  the  supposed  instability  of 
the  royal  government,  shortly  renewed  their  severities  in 
all  other  respects.  Catharine's  fanaticism  had  become 
wilder  by  the  sundering  of  all  human  ties ;  and  wherever 
a  scourge  was  lifted,  there  was  she  to  receive  the  blow ; 
and  whenever  a  dungeon  was  unbarred,  thither  she  came, 
to  cast  herself  upon  the  floor.  But  in  process  of  time,  a 
more  Christian  spirit  —  a  spirit  of  forbearance,  though 


THE    GENTLE    BOY.  115 

not  of  cordiality  or  approbation  —  began  to  pervade  the 
land  in  regard  to  the  persecuted  sect.  And  then,  when 
the  rigid  old  Pilgrims  eyed  her  rather  in  pity  than  in 
wrath ;  when  the  matrons  fed  her  with  the  fragments  of 
their  children's  food,  and  offered  her  a  lodging  on  a  hard 
and  lowly  bed ;  when  no  little  crowd  of  school-boys  left 
their  sports  to  cast  stones  after  the  roving  enthusiast, — 
then  did  Catharine  return  to  Pearson's  dwelling,  and  made 
that  her  home. 

As  if  Ilbrahim's  sweetness  yet  lingered  round  his 
ashes,  as  if  his  gentle  spirit  came  down  from  heaven 
to  teach  his  parent  a  true  religion,  her  fierce  and  vin- 
dictive nature  was  softened  by  the  same  griefs  which  had 
once  irritated  it.  When  the  course  of  years  had  made 
the  features  of  the  unobtrusive  mourner  familiar  in  the 
settlement,  she  became  a  subject  of  not  deep,  but  general 
interest;  a  being  on  whom  the  otherwise  superfluous 
sympathies  of  all  might  be  bestowed.  Every  one  spoke 
of  her  with  that  degree  of  pity  which  it  is  pleasant  to 
experience;  every  one  was  ready  to  do  her  the  little 
kindnesses,  which  are  not  costly,  yet  manifest  good-will ; 
and  when  at  last  she  died,  a  long  train  of  her  once  bitter 
persecutors  followed  her,  with  decent  sadness  and  tears 
that  were  not  painful,  to  her  place  by  Ilbrahim's  green 
and  sunken  grave. 


MB.  HIGGINBOTHAM'S  CATASTROPHE. 

YOUNG  fellow,  a  tobacco-pedler  by  trade,  was- 
on  his  way  from  Morristown,  where  he  had 
dealt  largely  with  the  Deacon  of  the  Shaker 
settlement,  to  the  village  of  Parker's  Falls,  on  Salmon 
River.  He  had  a  neat  little  cart,  painted  green,  with  a 
box  of  cigars  depicted  on  each  side  panel,  and  an  Indian 
chief,  holding  a  pipe  and  a  golden  tobacco -stalk,  on  the 
rear.  The  pedler  drove  a  smart  little  mare,  and  was  a 
young  man  of  excellent  character,  keen  at  a  bargain,  but 
none  the  worse  liked  by  the  Yankees ;  who,  as  I  have 
heard  them  say,  would  rather  be  shaved  with  a  sharp 
razor  than  a  dull  one.  Especially  was  he  beloved  by  the 
pretty  girls  along  the  Connecticut,  whose  favor  he  used 
to  court  by  presents  of  the  best  smoking  tobacco  in  his 
stock ;  knowing  well  that  the  country  lasses  of  New  Eng- 
land are  generally  great  performers  on  pipes.  Moreover, 
as  will  be  seen  in  the  course  of  my  story,  the  pedler  was 
inquisitive,  and  something  of  a  tattler,  always  itching  to 
hear  the  news,  and  anxious  to  tell  it  again. 

After  an  early  breakfast  at  Morristown,  the  tobacco- 
pedler,  whose  name  was  Dominicus  Pike,  had  travelled 
seven  miles  through  a  solitary  piece  of  woods,  without 
speaking  a  word  to  anybody  but  himself  and  his  little 
gray  mare.  It  being  nearly  seven  o'clock,  he  was  as 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       117 

eager  to  hold  a  morning  gossip  as  a  city  shopkeeper  to 
read  the  morning  paper.  An  opportunity  seemed  at 
hand,  when,  after  lighting  a  cigar  with  a  sunglass,  he 
looked  up,  and  perceived  a  man  coming  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  pedler  had  stopped 
his  green  cart.  Dominicus  watched  him  as  he  descended, 
and  noticed  that  he  carried  a  bundle  over  his  shoulder  on 
the  end  of  a  stick,  and  travelled  with  a  weary,  yet  deter- 
mined pace.  He  did  not  look  as  if  he  had  started  in  the 
freshness  of  the  morning,  but  had  footed  it  all  night,  and 
meant  to  do  the  same  all  day. 

"  Good  morning,  mister,"  said  Dominicus,  when  within 
speaking  distance.  "  You  go  a  pretty  good  jog.  What 's 
the  latest  news  at  Parker's  Falls  ?  " 

The  man  pulled  the  broad  brim  of  a  gray  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  answered,  rather  sullenly,  that  he  did  not  come 
from  Parker's  Falls,  which,  as  being  the  limit  of  his  own 
day's  journey,  the  pedler  had  naturally  mentioned  in  his 
inquiry. 

"Well,,  then,"  rejoined  Dominicus  Pike,  "let's  have 
the  latest  news  where  you  did  come  from.  I  'm  not 
particular  about  Parker's  Falls.  Any  place  will  an- 
swer." 

Being  thus  importuned,  the  traveller  —  who  was  as  ill 
looking  a  fellow  as  one  would  desire  to  meet,  in  a  solitary 
piece  of  woods  —  appeared  to  hesitate  a  little,  as  if  he 
was  either  searching  his  memory  for  news,  or  weighing 
the  expediency  of  telling  it.  At  last  mounting  on  the 
step  of  the  cart,  he  whispered  in  the  ear  of  Dominicus, 
though  he  might  have  shouted  aloud  and  no  other  mortal 
would  have  heard  him. 

"  I  do  remember  one  little  trifle  of  news,"  said  he. 
"Old  Mr.  Higginbotham,  of  Kimballton,  was  murdered 
hi  his  orchard,  at  eight  o'clock  last  night,  by  an  Irishman 


118  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  a  nigger.  They  strung  him  up  to  the  branch  of  a  St. 
Michael's  pear-tree,  where  nobody  would  find  him  till  the 
morning." 

As  soon  as  this  horrible  intelligence  was  communicated, 
the  stranger  betook  himself  to  his  journey  again,  with 
more  speed  than  ever,  not  even  turning  his  head  when 
Dominicus  invited  him  to  smoke  a  Spanish  cigar  and 
relate  all  the  particulars.  The  pedler  whistled  to  his 
mare  and  went  up  the  hill,  pondering  on  the  doleful  fate 
of  Mr.  Higgiubotham,  whom  he  had  known  in  the  way 
of  trade,  having  sold  him  many  a  bunch  of  long  nines, 
and  a  great  deal  of  pigtail,  lady's  twist,  and  fig  tobacco. 
He  was  rather  astonished  at  the  rapidity  with  which  the 
news  had  spread.  Kimballton  was  nearly  sixty  miles 
distant  in  a  straight  line;  the  murder  had  been  perpe- 
trated only  at  eight  o'clock  the  preceding  night;  yet 
Dominicus  had  heard  of  it  at  seven  in  the  morning, 
when,  in  all  probability,  poor  Mr.  Higginbotham's  own 
family  had  but  just  discovered  his  corpse,  hanging 
on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree.  The  stranger  on  foot 
must  have  worn  seven-league  boots,  to  travel  at  such  a 
rate. 

"Ill  news  flies  fast,  they  say,"  thought  Dominicus 
Pike;  "but  this  beats  railroads.  The  fellow  ought  to 
be  hired  to  go  express  with  the  President's  Message." 

The  difficulty  was  solved,  by  supposing  that  the  nar- 
rator had  made  a  mistake  of  one  day,  in  the  date  of  the 
occurrence  ;  so  that  our  friend  did  not  hesitate  to  intro- 
duce the  story  at  every  tavern  and  country  store  along 
the  road,  expending  a  whole  bunch  of  Spanish  wrappers 
among  at  least  twenty  horrified  audiences.  He  found 
himself  invariably  the  first  bearer  of  the  intelligence,  and 
was  so  pestered  with  questions  that  he  could  not  avoid 
filling  up  the  outline,  till  it  became  quite  a  respectable 


ME.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       119 

narrative.  He  met  with  one  piece  of  corroborative  evi- 
dence. Mr.  Higginbotham  was  a  trader ;  and  a  former 
clerk  of  his,  to  whom  Dominions  related  the  facts,  testi- 
fied that  the  old  gentleman  was  accustomed  to  return 
home  through  the  orchard,  about  nightfall,  with  the 
money  and  valuable  papers  of  the  store  in  his  pocket. 
The  clerk  manifested  but  little  grief  at  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham's  catastrophe,  hinting,  what  the  pedler  had  dis- 
covered in  his  own  dealings  with  him,  that  he  was  a 
crusty  old  fellow,  as  close  as  a  vice.  His  property  would 
descend  to  a  pretty  niece  who  was  now  keeping  school 
in  Kimballton. 

What  with  telling  the  news  for  the  public  good,  and 
driving  bargains  for  his  own,  Dominicus  was  so  much 
delayed  on  the  road,  that  he  chose  to  put  up  at  a  tavern, 
about  five  miles  short  of  Parker's  Falls.  After  supper, 
lighting  one  of  his  prime  cigars,  he  seated  himself  in  the 
bar-room,  and  went  through  the  story  of  the  murder, 
which  had  grown  so  fast  that  it  took  him  half  an  hour  to 
tell.  There  were  as  many  as  twenty  people  in  the  room, 
nineteen  of  whom  received  it  all  for  gospel.  But  the 
twentieth  was  an  elderly  farmer,  who  had  arrived  on 
horseback  a  short  time  before,  and  was  now  seated  in  a 
corner,  smoking  his  pipe.  When  the  story  was  conclud- 
ed, he  rose  up  very  deliberately,  brought  his  chair  right 
in  front  of  Dominicus,  and  stared  him  full  in  the  face, 
puffing  out  the  vilest  tobacco-smoke  the  pedler  had  ever 
smelt. 

"  Will  you  make  affidavit,"  demanded  he  in  the  tone 
of  a  country  justice  taking  an  examination,  "that  old 
Squire  Higginbotham  of  Kimballton  was  murdered  in  his 
orchard  the  night  before  last,  and  found  hanging  on  his 
great  pear-tree  yesterday  morning  ?  " 

"  I  tell  the  story  as  I  heard  it,  mister,"  answered  Do- 


120  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

minicus,  dropping  his  half-burnt  cigar ;  "  I  don't  say  that 
I  saw  the  thing  done.  So  I  can't  take  my  oath  that  he 
was  murdered  exactly  in  that  way." 

"But  I  can  take  mine,"  said  the  farmer,  "that  if 
Squire  Higginbotham  was  murdered  night  before  last, 
I  drank  a  glass  of  bitters  with  his  ghost  this  morning. 
Being  a  neighbor  of  mine,  he  called  me  into  his  store,  as 
I  was  riding  by,  and  treated  me,  and  then  asked  me  to 
do  a  little  business  for  him  on  the  road.  He  did  n't 
seem  to  know  any  more  about  his  own  murder  than  I 
did." 

"Why,  then  it  can't  be  a  fact !  "  exclaimed  Dominicus 
Pike. 

"  I  guess  he'  d  have  mentioned  it,  if  it  was,"  said  the 
old  farmer ;  and  he  removed  his  chair  back  to  the  corner,, 
leaving  Dominicus  quite  down  in  the  mouth. 

Here  was  a  sad  resurrection  of  old  Mr.  Higginbotham  ! 
The  pedler  had  no  heart  to  mingle  in  the  conversation 
any  more,  but  comforted  himself  with  a  glass  of  gin-and- 
water,  and  went  to  bed,  where,  all  night  long,  he  dreamed 
of  hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree.  To  avoid  the 
old  farmer  (whom  he  so  detested  that  his  suspension 
would  have  pleased  him  better  than  Mr.  Higginbotham's), 
Dominicus  rose  in  the  gray  of  the  morning,  put  the  little 
mare  into  the  green  cart,  and  trotted  swiftly  away  towards 
Parker's  Falls.  The  fresh  breeze,  the  dewy  road,  and  the 
pleasant  summer  dawn  revived  his  spirits,  and  might  have 
encouraged  him  to  repeat  the  old  story,  had  there  been 
anybody  awake  to  hear  it.  But  he  met  neither  ox  team, 
light  wagon,  chaise,  horseman,  nor  foot  traveller,  till,  just 
as  he  crossed  Salmon  River,  a  man  came  trudging  down 
to  the  bridge  with  a  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  on  the  end 
of  a  stick. 

"  Good  morning,  mister,"  said  the  pedler,  reining  in 


MR.  HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       121 

his  mare.  "  If  you  come  from  Kimballtoii  or  that  neigh- 
borhood, may  be  you  can  tell  me  the  real  fact  about  this 
affair  of  old  Mr.  Higginbotham.  Was  the  old  fellow 
actually  murdered  two  or  three  nights  ago,  by  ail  Irish.- 
rnan  and  a  nigger  ?  " 

Dominions  had  spoken  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  observe, 
at  first,  that  the  stranger  himself  had  a  deep  tinge  of 
uegro  blood.  On  hearing  this  sudden  question,  the 
Ethiopian  appeared  to  change  his  skin,  its  yellow  hue 
becoming  a  ghastly  white,  while,  shaking  and  stammer- 
ing, he  thus  replied  :  — 

"  No  !  no  !  There  was  no  colored  man  !  It  was  an 
Irishman  that  hanged  him  last  night,  at  eight  o'clock.  I 
came  away  at  seven!  His  folks  can't  have  looked  for 
him  in  the  orchard  yet." 

Scarcely  had  the  yellow  man  spoken,  when  he  inter- 
rupted himself,  and  though  he  seemed  weary  enough 
before,  continued  his  journey  at  a  pace  which  would  have 
kept  the  pedler's  mare  on  a  smart  trot.  Dominicus  stared 
after  him  in  great  perplexity.  If  the  murder  had  not 
been  committed  till  Tuesday  night,  who  was  the  prophet 
that  had  foretold  it,  in  all  its  circumstances,  on  Tuesday 
morning  ?  If  Mr.  Higginbotham' s  corpse  were  not  yet 
discovered  by  his  own  family,  how  came  the  mulatto,  at 
above  thirty  miles'  distance,  to  know  that  he  was  hanging 
in  the  orchard,  especially  as  he  had  left  Kimballton  before 
the  unfortunate  man  was  hanged  at  all  ?  These  ambigu- 
ous circumstances,  with  the  stranger's  surprise  and  terror, 
made  Dominicus  think  of  raising  a  hue  and  cry  after  him, 
as  an  accomplice  in  the  murder  ;  since  a  murder,  it  seemed, 
had  really  been  perpetrated. 

"  But  let  the  poor  devil  go,"  thought  the  pedler.  "  I 
don't  want  his  black  blood  on  my  head  ;  and  hanging  the 
nigger  would  n't  unhang  Mr.  Higginbotham.  Unhang 


122  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  old  gentleman !  It's  a  sin,  I  know  ;  but  I  should 
hate  to  have  him  come  to  life  a  second  time,  and  give  me 
the  lie ! " 

With  these  meditations,  Dominions  Pike  drove  into  the 
street  of  Parker's  Falls,  which,  as  everybody  knows,  is  as 
thriving  a  village  as  three  cotton-factories  and  a  slitting- 
mill  can  make  it.  The  machinery  was  not  in  motion, 
and  but  a  few  of  the  shop-doors  unbarred,  when  he 
alighted  in  the  stable-yard  of  the  tavern,  and  made  it  his 
first  business  to  order  the  mare  four  quarts  of  oats.  His 
second  duty,  of  course,  was  to  impart  Mr.  Higginboth- 
am's  catastrophe  to  the  ostler.  He  deemed  it  advisable, 
however,  not  to  be  too  positive  as  to  the  date  of  the  dire- 
ful fact,  and  also  to  be  uncertain  whether  it  were  perpe- 
trated by  an  Irishman  and  a  mulatto,  or  by  the  son  of 
Erin  alone.  Neither  did  he  profess  to  relate  it  on  his 
own  authority,  or  that  of  any  one  person ;  but  mentioned 
it  as  a  report  generally  diffused. 

The  story  ran  through  the  town  like  fire  among 
girdled  trees,  and  became  so  much  the  universal  talk, 
that  nobody  could  tell  whence  it  had  originated.  Mr. 
Higginbothan  was  as  well  known  at  Parker's  Palls 
as  any  citizen  of  the  place,  being  part  owner  of  the 
slitting-mill,  and  a  considerable  stockholder  in  the  cot- 
ton-factories. The  inhabitants  felt  their  own  prosperity 
interested  in  his  fate.  Such  was  the  excitement,  that 
the  Parker's  Falls  Gazette  anticipated  its  regular  day 
of  publication,  and  came  out  with  half  a  form  of  blank 
paper  and  a  column  of  double  pica  emphasized  with 
capitals,  and  headed  HORRID  MURDER  OF  MR. 
HIGGINBOTHAM !  Among  other  dreadful  details, 
the  printed  account  described  the  mark  of  the  cord  round 
the  dead  man's  neck,  and  stated  the  number  of  thousand 
dollars  of  which  he  had  been  robbed ;  there  was  much 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       123 

pathos  also  about  the  affliction  of  his  niece,  who  had  gone 
from  one  fainting  fit  to  another,  ever  since  her  uncle  was 
found  hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree  with  his 
pockets  inside  out.  The  village  poet  likewise  commem- 
orated the  young  lady's  grief  in  seventeen  stanzas  of  a 
ballad.  The  selectmen  held  a  meeting,  and,  in  consider- 
ation of  Mr.  Higginbotham's  claims  on  the  town,  deter- 
mined to  issue  handbills,  offering  a  reward  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  the  apprehension  of  his  murderers,  and 
the  recovery  of  the  stolen  property. 

Meanwhile,  the  whole  population  of  Parker's  Falls, 
consisting  of  shopkeepers,  mistresses  of  boarding-houses, 
factory-girls,  mill-men,  and  school-boys,  rushed  into  the 
street  and  kept  up  such  a  terrible  loquacity,  as  more 
than  compensated  for  the  silence  of  the  cotton-machines, 
which  refrained  from  their  usual  din,  out  of  respect  to  the 
deceased.  Had  Mr.  Higginbotham  cared  about  posthu- 
mous renown,  his  untimely  ghost  would  have  exulted  in 
this  tumult.  Our  friend  Dominicus,  in  his  vanity  of 
heart,  forgot  his  intended  precautions,  and  mounting  on 
the  town-pump,  announced  himself  as  the  bearer  of  the 
authentic  intelligence  which  had  caused  so  wonderful  a 
sensation.  He  immediately  became  the  great  man  of  the 
moment,  and  had  just  begun  a  new  edition  of  the  narra- 
tive, with  a  voice  like  a  field  preacher,  when  the  mail- 
stage  drove  into  the  village  street.  It  had  travelled  all 
night,  and  must  have  shifted  horses  at  Kimballton  at 
three  in  the  morning.  v 

"  Now  we  shall  hear  all  the  particulars,"  shouted  the 
crowd. 

The  coach  rumbled  up  to  the  piazza  of  the  tavern, 
followed  by  a  thousand  people  ;  for  if  any  man  had  been 
minding  his  own  business  till  then,  he  now  left  it  at  sixes 
and  sevens,  to  hear  the  news.  The  pedler,  foremost  in 


124  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  race,  discovered  two  passengers,  both  of  whom  had 
been  startled  from  a  comfortable  nap  to  find  themselves 
in  the  centre  of  a  mob.  Every  man  assailing  them  with 
separate  questions,  all  propounded  at  once,  the  couple 
were  struck  speechless,  though  one  was  a  lawyer  and  the 
other  a  young  lady. 

"Mr.  Higginbotham !  Mr.  Higginbotham !  Tell  us 
the  particulars  about  old  Mr.  Higginbotham ! "  bawled 
the  mob.  "  What  is  the  coroner's  verdict  ?  Are  the 
murderers  apprehended  ?  Is  Mr.  Higginbotham's  niece 
come  out  of  her  fainting  fits  ?  Mr.  Higgiubotham !  Mr. 
Higginbotham ! ! " 

The  coachman  said  not  a  word,  except  to  swear  awfully 
at  the  ostler  for  not  bringing  him  a  fresh  team  of  horses. 
The  lawyer  inside  had  generally  his  wits  about  him,  even 
when  asleep;  the  first  thing  he  did,  after  learning  the 
cause  of  the  excitement,  was  to  produce  a  large  red 
pocket-book.  Meantime,  Dominicus  Pike,  being  an  ex- 
tremely polite  young  man,  and  also  suspecting  that  a 
female  tongue  would  tell  the  story  as  glibly  as  a  lawyer's, 
had  handed  the  lady  out  of  the  coach.  She  was  a  fine, 
smart  girl,  now  wide  awake  and  bright  as  a  button,  and 
had  such  a  sweet  pretty  mouth,  that  Dominicus  would 
almost  as  lief  have  heard  a  love-tale,  from  it  as  a  tale  of 
murder. 

"  Gentleman  and  ladies,"  said  the  lawyer,  to  the  shop- 
keepers, the  mill-men,  and  the  factory -girls,  "  I  can  assure 
you  that  some  unaccountable  mistake,  or,  more  probably, 
a  wilful  falsehood,  maliciously  contrived  to  injure  Mr. 
Higginbotham's  credit,  has  excited  this  singular  uproar. 
We  passed  through  Kimballton  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning,  and  most  certainly  should  have  been  informed 
of  the  murder  had  any  been  perpetrated.  But  I  have 
proof  nearly  as  strong  as  Mr.  Higginbotham's  own  oral 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       125 

testimony  in  tlte  negative.  Here  is  a  note,  relating  to  a 
suit  of  his  in  the  Connecticut  courts,  which  was  delivered 
me  from  that  gentleman  himself.  I  find  it  dated  at  ten 
o'clock  last  evening." 

So  saying,  the  lawyer  exhibited  the  date  and  signature 
of  the  note,  which  irrefragably  proved,  either  that  this 
perverse  Mr.  Higginbotham  was  alive  when  he  wrote  it, 
or  —  as  some  deemed  the  more  probable  case  of  two 
doubtful  ones  —  that  he  was  so  absorbed  in  worldly 
business  as  to  continue  to  transact  it,  even  after  his  death. 
But  unexpected  evidence  was  forthcoming.  The  young 
lady,  after  listening  to  the  pedler's  explanation,  merely 
seized  a  moment  to  smooth  her  gown  and  put  her  curls 
in  order,  and  then  appeared  at  the  tavern-door,  making 
a  modest  signal  to  be  heard. 

"  Good  people,"  said  she,  "  I  am  Mr.  Higginbotham' s 
niece." 

A  wondering  murmur  passed  through  the  crowd,  on 
beholding  her  so  rosy  and  bright ;  that  same  unhappy 
niece,  whom  they  had  supposed,  on  the  authority  of  the 
Parker's  Falls  Gazette,  to  be  lying  at  death's  door  in 
a  fainting  fit.  But  some  shrewd  fellows  had  doubted, 
all  along,  whether  a  young  lady  would  be  quite  so  des- 
perate at  the  hanging  of  a  rich  old  uncle. 

"You  see,"  continued  Miss  Higginbotham,  with  a 
smile,  "  that  this  strange  story  is  quite  unfounded,  as  to 
myself ;  and  1  believe  I  may  affirm  it  to  be  equally  so, 
in  regard  to  my  dear  uncle  Higginbotham.  He  has  the 
kindness  to  give  me  a  home  in  his  house,  though  I  con- 
tribute to  my  own  support  by  teaching  a  school.  I  left 
Kimballton  this  morning  to  spend  the  vacation  of  com- 
mencement  week  with  a  friend,  about  five  miles  from 
Parker's  Falls.  My  generous  uncle,  when  he  heard  mo 
on  the  stairs,  called  me  to  his  bedside,  and  gave  me  two 


126  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

dollars  and  fifty  cents,  to  pay  my  stage  fare,  and  another 
dollar  for  my  extra  expenses.  He  then  laid  his  pocket- 
book  under  his  pillow,  shook  hands  with  me,  and  advised 
me  to  take  some  biscuit  in  my  bag,  instead  of  breakfast- 
ing on  the  road.  I  fee^  confident,  therefore,  that  I  left 
my  beloved  relative  alive,  and  trust  that  I  shall  find  him 
so  on  my  return." 

The  young  lady  courtesied  at  the  close  of  her  speech, 
which  was  so  sensible  and  well  worded,  and  delivered 
with  such  grace  and  propriety,  that  everybody  thought 
her  fit  to  be  preceptress  of  the  best  academy  in  the 
State.  But  a  stranger  would  have  supposed  that  Mr. 
Higginbotham  was  an  object  of  abhorrence  at  Parker's 
Falls,  and  that  a  thanksgiving  had  been  proclaimed  for 
his  murder,  so  excessive  was  the  wrath  of  the  inhabitants, 
on  learning  their  mistake.  The  mill-men  resolved  to  be- 
stow public  honors  on  Dominicus  Pike,  only  hesitating 
whether  to  tar  and  feather  him,  ride  him  on  a  rail,  or  re- 
fresh him  with  an  ablution  at  the  town-pump,  on  the  top 
of  which  he  had  declared  himself  the  bearer  of  the  news. 
The  selectmen,  by  advice  of  the  lawyer,  spoke  of  prose- 
cuting him  for  a  misdemeanor,  in  circulating  unfounded 
reports,  to  the  great  disturbance  of  the  peace  of  the 
Commonwealth.  Nothing  saved  Dominicus,  either  from 
mob  law  or  a  court  of  justice,  but  an  eloquent  appeal 
made  by  the  young  lady  in  his  behalf.  Addressing  a  few 
words  of  heartfelt  gratitude  to  his  benefactress,  he 
mounted  the  green  cart  and  rode  out  of  town,  under  a 
discharge  of  artillery  from  the  school-boys,  who  found 
plenty  of  ammunition  in  the  neighboring  clay-pits  and 
mud-holes.  As  he  turned  his  head,  to  exchange  a  fare- 
well glance  with  Mr.  Higginbotham's  niece,  a  ball,  of  the 
consistence  of  hasty-pudding,  hit  him  slap  in  the  mouth, 
giving  him  a  most  grim  aspect.  His  whole  person  was 


Mil.    IllGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       127 

so  bespattered  with  the  like  filthy  missiles,  that  he  had 
almost  a  mind  to  ride  back,  and  supplicate  for  the  threat- 
ened ablution  at  the  town  pump ;  for,  though  not  meant 
in  kindness,  it  would  now  have  been  a  deed  of  charity. 

However,  the  sun  shone  bright  on  poor  Dominicus, 
and  the  mud,  an  emblem  of  all  stains  of  undeserved  oppro- 
brium, was  easily  brushed  off  when  dry.  Being  a  funny 
rogue,  his  heart  soon  cheered  up ;  nor  could  he  refrain 
from  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  uproar  which  his  story  had 
excited.  The  handbills  of  the  selectmen  would  cause  the 
commitment  of  all  the  vagabonds  in  the  State  ;  the  para- 
graph in  the  Parker's  Falls  Gazette  would  be  reprinted 
from  Maine  to  Florida,  and  perhaps  form  an  item  in  the 
London  newspapers ;  and  many  a  miser  would  tremble 
for  his  money-bags  and  life,  on  learning  the  catastrophe 
of  Mr.  Higginbotham.  The  pedler  meditated  with  much 
fervor  on  the  charms  of  the  young  schoolmistress,  and 
swore  that  Daniel  Webster  never  spoke  nor  looked  so 
like  an  angel  as  Miss  Higginbotham,  while  defending  him 
from  the  wrathful  populace  at  Parker's  Falls. 

Dominicus  was  now  on  the  Kimballton  turnpike,  hav- 
ing all  along  determined  to  visit  that  place,  though  busi- 
ness had  drawn  him  out  of  the  most  direct  road  from 
Morristown.  As  he  approached  the  scene  of  the  supposed 
murder,  he  continued  to  revolve  the  circumstances  in  his 
mind,  and  was  astonished  at  the  aspect  which  the  whole 
case  assumed.  Had  nothing  occurred  to  corroborate 
the  story  of  the  first  traveller,  it  might  now  have  been 
considered  as  a  hoax ;  but  the  yellow  man  was  evidently 
acquainted  either  with  the  report  or  the  fact ;  and  there 
was  a  mystery  in  his  dismayed  and  guilty  look  on  being 
abruptly  questioned.  When,  to  tin's  singular  combination 
of  incidents,  it  was  added  that  the  rumor  tallied  exactly 
with  Mr.  Higgiubotham's  character  and  habits  of  life  ;  and 


128  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

that  he  had  an  orchard,  and  a  St.  Michael's  pear-tree, 
near  which  he  always  passed  at  nightfall ;  the  circumstan- 
tial evidence  appeared  so  strong  that  Dominicus  doubted 
whether  the  autograph  produced  by  the  lawyer,  or  even 
the  niece's  direct  testimony,  ought  to  be  equivalent.  Mak- 
ing cautious  inquiries  along  the  road,  the  pedler  further 
learned  that  Mr.  Higgiubotham  had  in  his  service  an 
Irishman  of  doubtful  character,  whom  he  had  hired  with- 
out a  recommendation,  on  the  score  of  economy. 

"  May  I  be  hanged  myself,"  exclaimed  Dominicus 
Pike  aloud,  on  reaching  the  top  of  a  lonely  hill,  "  if 
I  '11  believe  old  Higginbotham  is  unhanged,  till  I  see  him 
with  my  own  eyes,  and  hear  it  from  his  own  mouth ! 
And  as  he 's  a  real  shaver,  I  '11  have  the  minister  or  some 
other  responsible  man,  for  an  indorser." 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  he  reached  the  toll-house 
on  Kiinballton  turnpike,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  village  of  this  name.  His  little  mare  was  fast  bring- 
ing him  up  with  a  man  on  horseback,  who  trotted  through 
the  gate  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  him,  nodded  to  the  toll- 
gatherer,  and  kept  on  towards  the  village.  Dominicus 
was  acquainted  with  the  tollman,  and  while  making 
change,  the  usual  remarks  on  the  weather  passed  between 
them. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  pedler,  throwing  back  his  whip- 
lash, to  bring  it  down  like  a  feather  on  the  mare's  flank, 
"  you  have  not  seen  anything  of  old  Mr.  Higgiubotham 
within  a  day  or  two  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  toll-gatherer.  "  He  passed  the 
gate  just  before  you  drove  up,  and  yonder  he  rides  now, 
if  you  can  see  him  through  the  dusk.  He  's  been  to 
Woodfield  this  afternoon,  attending  a  sheriff's  sale  there. 
The  old  man  generally  shakes  hands  and  has  a  little  chat 
with  me ;  but  to-night  he  nodded,  —  as  if  to  say,  '  Charge 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTBOPHE.       129 

my  toll,'  —  and  jogged  on ;  for  wherever  he  goes,  he 
must  always  be  at  home  by  eight  o'clock." 

"  So  they  tell  me,"  said  Dominicus. 

"  I  never  saw  a  man  look  so  yellow  and  thin  as  the 
squire  does,"  continued  the  toll-gatherer.  "  Says  I  to 
myself,  to-night,  He's  more  like  a  ghost  or  an  old 
mummy  than  good  flesh  and  blood." 

The  pedler  strained  his  eyes  through  the  twilight,  and 
could  just  discern  the  horseman  now  far  ahead  on  the  vil- 
lage road.  He  seemed  to  recognize  the  rear  of  Mr.  Hig- 
ginbotham  ;  but  through  the  evening  shadows,  and  amid 
the  dust  from  the  horse's  feet,  the  figure  appeared  dim 
and  unsubstantial ;  as  if  the  shape  of  the  mysterious  old 
man  were  faintly  moulded  of  darkness  and  gray  light. 
Dominicus  shivered. 

"Mr.  Higginbotham  has  come  back  from  the  other 
world,  by  way  of  the  Kimballton  turnpike,"  thought 
he. 

He  shook  the  reins  and  rode  forward,  keeping  about 
the  same  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  gray  old  shadow, 
till  the  latter  was  concealed  by  a  bend  of  the  road.  On 
reaching  this  point,  the  pedler  no  longer  saw  the  man 
on  horseback,  but  found  himself  at  the  head  of  the  vil- 
lage street,  not  far  from  a  number  of  stores  and  two 
taverns,  clustered  round  the  meeting-house  steeple.  On 
his  left  were  a  stone  wall  and  a  gate,  the  boundary  of  a 
wood-lot,  beyond  which  lay  an  orchard,  farther  still  a 
mowing  field,  and  last  of  all  a  house.  These  were  the 
premises  of  Mr.  Higginbotham,  whose  dwelling  stood 
beside  the  old  highway,  but  had  been  left  in  the  back- 
ground by  the  Kimballton  turnpike.  Dominicus  knew 
the  place ;  and  the  little  mare  stopped  short  by  instinct ; 
for  he  was  not  conscious  of  tightening  the  reins. 

"  For  the  soul  of  me,  I  cannot  get  by  this  gate !  "  said 
6*  i 


130  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

he,  trembling.  "  I  never  shall  be  my  own  man  again, 
till  I  see  whether  Mr.  Higginbotham  is  hanging  on  the 
St.  Michael's  pear-tree  !  " 

He  leaped  from  the  cart,  gave  the  rein  a  turn  round 
the  gate-post,  and  ran  along  the  green  path  of  the  wood- 
lot,  as  if  Old  Nick  were  chasing  behind.  Just  then  the 
village  clock  tolled  eight,  and  as  each  deep  stroke  fell, 
Dominicus  gave  a  fresh  bound  and  flew  faster  than  be- 
fore, till,  dim  in  the  solitary  centre  of  the  orchard,  he 
saw  the  fated  pear-tree.  One  great  branch  stretched 
from  the  old  contorted  trunk  across  the  path,  and  threw 
the  darkest  shadow  on  that  one  spot.  But  something 
seemed  to  struggle  beneath  the  branch ! 

The  pedler  had  never  pretended  to  more  courage  than 
befits  a  man  of  peaceable  occupation,  nor  could  he  ac- 
count for  his  valor  on  this  awful  emergency.  Certain 
it  is,  however,  that  he  rushed  forward,  prostrated  a 
sturdy  Irishman  with  the  but-end  of  his  whip,  and  found 
—  not  indeed  hanging  on  the  St.  Michael's  pear-tree, 
but  trembling  beneath  it,  with  a  halter  round  his  neck  — 
the  old,  identical  Mr.  Higginbotham ! 

"  Mr.  Higginbotham,"  said  Dominicus,  tremulously, 
"  you  're  an  honest  man,  and  I  '11  take  your  word  for 
it.  Have  you  been  hanged,  or  not?" 

If  the  riddle  be  not  already  guessed,  a  few  words  will 
explain  the  simple  machinery  by  which  this  "coining 
event  "  was  made  to  "  cast  its  shadow  before."  Three 
men  had  plotted  the  robbery  and  murder  of  Mr.  Higgin- 
botham ;  two  of  them,  successively,  lost  courage  and  fled, 
each  delaying  the  crime  one  night,  by  their  disappear- 
ance ;  the  third  was  in  the  act  of  perpetration,  when  a 
champion,  blindly  obeying  the  call  of  fate,  like  the  heroes 
of  old  romance,  appeared  in  the  person  of  Dominicus 
Pike. 


MR.    HIGGINBOTHAM'S    CATASTROPHE.       131 

It  only  remains  to  say,  that  Mr.  Higginbotham  took 
the  pedler  into  high  favor,  sanctioned  his  addresses  to 
the  pretty  schoolmistress,  and  settled  his  whole  property 
on  their  children,  allowing  themselves  the  interest.  In. 
due  time,  the  old  gentleman  capped  the  climax  of  his 
favors  by  dying  a  Christian  death,  in  bed,  since  which 
melancholy  event  Doiniuicus  Pike  has  removed  from 
Kimballton,  and  established  a  krge  tobacco  manufactory 
in  my  native  village.  * 


LITTLE  ANNIE'S  RAMBLE. 

JJING-DONG  !     Ding-dong  !     Ding-dong ! 

The  town  crier  has  rung  his  bell,  at  a  distant 
corner,  and  little  Annie  stands  on  her  father's 
ioorsteps,  trying  to  hear  what  the  man  with  the  lond 
voice  is  talking  about.  Let  me  listen  too.  O,  he  is 
telling  the  people  that  an  elephant,  and  a  lion,  and  a 
royal  tiger,  and  a  horse  with  horns,  and  other  strange 
beasts  from  foreign  countries,  have  come  to  town,  and 
will  receive  all  visitors  who  choose  to  wait  upon  them  ! 
Perhaps  little  Annie  would  like  to  go.  Yes ;  and  I  can 
see  that  the  pretty  child  is  weary  of  this  wide  and  pleas- 
ant street,  with  the  green  trees  flinging  their  shade  across 
the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the  pavements  and  the  sidewalks 
all  as  clean  as  if  the  housemaid  had  just  swept  them  with 
her  broom.  She  feels  that  impulse  to  go  strolling  away 
—  that  longing  after  the  mystery  of  the  great  world  — 
which  many  children  feel,  and  which  I  felt  in  my  child- 
hood. Little  Annie  shall  take  a  ramble  with  me.  See  ! 
I  do  but  hold  out  my  hand,  and,  like  some  bright  bird 
in  the  sunny  air,  with  her  blue  silk  frock  fluttering  up- 
wards from  her  white  pantalets,  she  comes  bounding  on 
tiptoe  across  the  street. 

Smooth  back  your  brown  curls,  Annie;  and  let  me 
tie  on  your  bonnet,  and  we  will  set  forth !     What  a 


LITTLE    ANNIE'S    RAMBLE.  133 

strange  couple  to  go  on  their  rambles  together!  One 
•walks  in  black  attire,  with  a  measured  step,  and  a  heavy 
brow,  and  his  thoughtful  eyes  bent  down,  while  the  gay 
little  girl  trips  lightly  along,  as  if  she  were  forced  to 
keep  hold  of  my  hand,  lest  her  feet  should  dance  away 
from  the  earth.  Yet  there  is  sympathy  between  us.  If 
I  pride  myself  on  anything,  it  is  because  I  have  a  smile 
that  children  love;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  tkere  are 
few  grown  ladies  that  could  entice  me  from  the  side  of 
little  Annie;  for  I  delight  to  let  my  mind  go  hand  in 
hand  with  the  mind  of  a  sinless  child.  So,  come,  Annie ; 
but  if  I  moralize  as  we  go,  do  not  listen  to  me;  only 
look  about  you,  and  be  merry ! 

Now  we  turn  the  corner.  Here  are  hacks  with  two 
horses,  and  stage-coaches  with  four,  thundering  to  meet 
each  other,  and  trucks  and  carts  moving  at  a  slower 
pace,  being  heavily  laden  with  barrels  from  the  wharves, 
and  here  are  rattling  gigs,  which  perhaps  will  be 
smashed  to  pieces  before  our  eyes.  Hitherward,  also, 
comes  a  man  trundling  a  wheelbarrow  along  the  pave- 
ment. Is  not  'little  Annie  afraid  of  such  a  tumult  ? 
No ;  she  does  not  even  shrink  closer  to  my  side,  but 
passes  on  with  fearless  confidence,  a  happy  child  amidst 
a  great  throng  of  grown  people,  who  pay  the  same  rev- 
erence to  her  infancy  that  they  would  to  extreme  old 
age.  Nobody  jostles  her;  all  turn  aside  to  make  way 
for  little  Annie ;  and,  what  is  most  singular,  she  appears 
conscious  of  her  claim  to  such  respect.  Now  her  eyes 
brighten  with  pleasure !  A  street-musician  has  seated 
himself  on  the  steps  of  yonder  church,  and  pours  forth 
his  strains  to  the  busy  town,  a  melody  that  has  gone 
astray  among  the  tramp  of  footsteps,  the  buzz  of  voices, 
and  the  war  of  passing  wheels.  Who  heeds  the  poor 
organ-grinder  ?  None  but  myself  aud  little  Annie,  whose 


134  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

feet  begin  to  move  in  unison  with  the  lively  tune,  as 
if  she  were  loath  that  music  should  be  wasted  without  a 
dance.  But  where  would  Annie  find  a  partner  ?  Some 
have  the  gout  in  their  toes,  or  the  rheumatism  in  their 
joints  ;  some  are  stiff  with  age ;  some  feeble  with  dis- 
ease ;  some  are  so  lean  that  their  bones  would  rattle, 
and  others  of  such  ponderous  size  that  their  agility 
would  crack  the  flagstones ;  but  many,  many  have  leaden 
feet,  because  their  hearts  are  far  heavier  than  lead. 
It  is  a  sad  thought  that  I  have  chanced  upon.  What  a 
company  of  dancers  should  we  be  !  For  I,  too,  am  a 
gentleman  of  sober  footsteps,  and  therefore,  little  Annie, 
let  us  walk  sedately  on. 

It  is  a  question  with  me,  whether  this  giddy  child, 
or  my  sage  self,  have  most  pleasure  in  looking  at  the 
shop-windows.  We  love  the  silks  of  sunny  hue,  that 
glow  within  the  darkened  premises  of  the  spruce  dry- 
goods'  men ;  we  are  pleasantly  dazzled  by  the  burnished 
silver,  and  the  chased  gold,  the  rings  of  wedlock  and 
the  costly  love-ornaments,  glistening  at  the  window  of 
the  jeweller;  but  Annie,  more  than  I,  seeks  for  a 
glimpse  of  her  passing  figure  in  the  dusty  looking- 
glasses  at  the  hardware  stores.  All  that  is  bright  and 
gay  attracts  us  both. 

Here  is  a  shop  to  which  the  recollections  of  my  boy- 
hood, as  well  as  present  partialities,  give  a  peculiar 
magic.  How  delightful  to  let  the  fancy  revel  on  the 
dainties  of  a  confectioner ;  those  pies,  with  such  white 
and  flaky  paste,  their  contents  being  a  mystery,  whether 
rich  mince,  with  whole  plums  intermixed,  or  piquant 
apple,  delicately  rose-flavored ;  those  cakes,  heart-shaped 
or  round,  piled  in  a  lofty  pyramid ;  those  sweet  little 
circlets,  sweetly  named  kisses ;  those  dark,  majestic 
masses,  fit  to  be  bridal-loaves  at  the  wedding  of  an. 


LITTLE   ANNIE'S    EAMBLE.  13& 

heiress,  mountains  in  size,  their  summits  deeply  snow- 
covered  with  sugar !  Then  the  mighty  treasures  of 
sugar-plums,  white  and  crimson  and  yellow,  in  large 
glass  vases ;  and  candy  of  all  varieties ;  and  those  little 
cockles,  or  whatever  they  are  called,  much  prized  by 
children  for  their  sweetness,  and  more  for  the  mottoes 
which  they  enclose,  by  love-sick  maids  and  bachelors! 
O,  my  mouth  waters,  little  Annie,  and  so  doth  yours ; 
but  we  will  not  be  tempted,  except  to  an  imaginary 
feast ;  so  let  us  hasten  onward,  devouring  the  vision  of 
a  plum-cake. 

Here  are  pleasures,  as  some  people  would  say,  of  a 
more  exalted  kind,  in  the  window  of  a  bookseller.  Is 
Annie  a  literary  lady  ?  Yes ;  she  is  deeply  read  in 
Peter  Parley's  tomes,  and  has  an  increasing  love  for 
fairy-tales,  though  seldom  met  with  nowadays,  and  she 
will  subscribe,  next  year,  to  the  Juvenile  Miscellany. 
But,  truth  to  tell,  she  is  apt  to  turn  away  from  the 
printed  page,  and  keep  gazing  at  the  pretty  pictures, 
such  as  the  gay-colored  ones  which  make  this  shop- 
window  the  continual  loitering-place  of  children.  What 
would  Annie  think,  if,  in  the  book  which  I  mean  to  send 
her,  on  New  Year's  day,  she  should  find  her  sweet  lit- 
tle self,  bound  up  in  silk  or  morocco  with  gilt  edges, 
there  to  remain  till  she  become  a  woman  grown  with 
children  of  her  own  to  read  about  their  mother's  child- 
hood !  That  would  be  very  queer. 

Little  Annie  is  weary  of  pictures,  and  pulls  me  onward 
by  the  hand,  till  suddenly  we  pause  at  the  most  wondrous 
shop  in  all  the  town.  O,  my  stars  !  Is  this  a  toy -shop,, 
or  is  it  fairy-land  ?  For  here  are  gilded  chariots,  in 
which  the  king  and  queen  of  the  fairies  might  ride  side 
by  side,  while  their  courtiers,  on  these  small  horses, 
should  gallop  in  triumphal  procession  before  and  behind 


136  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  royal  pair.  Here,  too,  are  dishes  of  china-ware,  fit 
to  be  the  dining  set  of  those  same  princely  personages, 
when  they  make  a  regal  banquet  in  the  stateliest  hall 
of  their  palace,  full  five  feet  high,  and  behold  their 
nobles  feasting  adown  the  long  perspective  of  the  table. 
Betwixt  the  king  and  queen  should  sit  my  little  Annie, 
the  prettiest  fairy  of  them  all.  Here  stands  a  turbaned 
Turk,  threatening  us  with  his  sabre,  like  an  ugly  hea- 
then as  he  is.  And  next  a  Chinese  mandarin,  who  nods 
his  head  at  Annie  and  myself.  Here  we  may  review  a 
whole  army  of  horse  and  foot,  in  red  and  blue  uniforms, 
with  drums,  fifes,  trumpets,  and  all  kinds  of  noiseless 
music;  they  have  halted  on  the  shelf  of  this  window, 
after  their  weary  march  from  Liliput.  But  what  cares 
Annie  for  soldiers?  No  conquering  queen  is  she,  nei- 
ther a  Semiramis  nor  a  Catharine,  her  whole  heart  is 
set  upon  that  doll,  who  gazes  at  us  with  such  a  fash- 
ionable stare.  This  is  the  little  girl's  true  plaything. 
Though  made  of  wood,  a  doll  is  a  visionary  and  ethereal 
personage,  endowed  by  childish  fancy  with  a  peculiar 
•life;  the  mimic  lady  is  a  heroine  of  romance,  an  actor 
and  a  sufferer  in  a  thousand  shadowy  scenes,  the  chief 
inhabitant  of  that  wild  world  with  which  children  ape 
the  real  one.  Little  Annie  does  not  understand  what 
I  am  saying,  but  looks  wishfully  at  the  proud  lady  in 
the  window.  We  will  invite  her  home  with  us  as  we 
return.  Meantime,  good  by,  Dame  Doll !  A  toy  your- 
self, you  look  forth  from  your  window  upon  many 
ladies  that  are  also  toys,  though  they  walk  and  speak, 
and  upon  a  crowd  in  pursuit  of  toys,  though  they  wear 
grave  visages.  O,  with  your  never-closing  eyes,  had  you 
but  an  intellect  to  moralize  on  all  that  flits  before  them, 
what  a  wise  doll  would  you  be !  Come,  little  Annie,  we 
shall  find  toys  enough,  go  where  we  may. 


LITTLE    ANNIE'S    RAMBLE.  137 

Now  we  elbow  our  way  among  the  throng  again.  It , 
is  curious,  in  the  most  crowded  part  of  a  town,  to  meet 
with  living  creatures  that  had  their  birthplace  in  some 
far  solitude,  but  have  acquired  a  second  nature  in  the 
wilderness  of  men.  Look  up,  Annie,  at  that  canary-bird, 
hanging  out  of  the  window  in  his  cage.  Poor  little  fel- 
low !  His  golden  feathers  are  all  tarnished  in  this  smoky 
sunshine ;  he  would  have  glistened,  twice  as  brightly 
among  the  summer  islands ;  but  still  he  has  become  a 
citizen  in  all  his  tastes  and  habits,  and  would  not  sing 
half  so  well  without  the  uproar  that  drowns  his  music. 
What  a  pity  that  he  does  not  know  how  miserable  he  is  ! 
There  is  a  parrot,  too,  calling  out,  "  Pretty  Poll !  Pretty 
Poll !  "  as  we  pass  by.  Foolish  bird,  to  be  talking  about 
her  prettiness  to  strangers,  especially  as  she  is  not  a 
pretty  Poll,  though  gaudily  dressed  in  green  and  yellow. 
If  she  had  said,  "  Pretty  Annie,"  there  would  have  been 
some  sense  in  it.  See  that  gray  squirrel  at  the  door 
of  the  fruit-shop,  whirling  round  and  round  so  merrily 
within  his  wire  wheel !  Being  condemned  to  the  tread- 
mill, he  makes  it  an  amusement.  Admirable  philosophy ! 

Here  comes  a  big,  rough  dog,  a  countryman's  dog  in 
search  of  his  master;  smelling  at  everybody's  heels,  and 
touching  little  Annie's  hand  with  his  cold  nose,  but  hur- 
rying away,  though  slie  would  fain  have  patted  him. 
Success  to  your  search,  Fidelity  !  And  there  sits  a  great 
yellow  cat  upon  a  window-sill,  a  very  corpulent  and 
comfortable  cat,  gazing  at  this  transitory  world,  with 
owl's  eyes,  and  making  pithy  comments,  doubtless,  or 
what  appear  such,  to  the  silly  beast.  0  sage  puss, 
make  room  for  me  beside  you,  and  we  will  be  a  pair  of  * 
philosophers ! 

Here  we  see  something  to  remind  us  of  the  town  crier, 
and  his  ding-dong  bell !     Look  !  look  at  that  great  cloth 


138  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

spread  out  in  the  air,  pictured  all  over  with  wild  beasts, 
as  if  they  had  met  together  to  choose  a  king,  according 
to  their  custom  in  the  days  of  Jilsop.  But  they,  are 
choosing  neither  a  king  nor  a  president ;  else  we  should 
hear  a  most  horrible  snarling!  They  have  come  from 
the  deep  woods,  and  the  wild  mountains,  and  the  desert 
sands,  and  the  polar  snows,  only  to  do  homage  to  my 
little  Annie.  As  we  enter  among  them,  the  great  ele- 
phant makes  us  a  bow,  in  the  best  style  of  elephantine 
courtesy,  bending  lowly  down  his  mountain  bulk,  with 
trunk  abased,  and  leg  thrust  out  behind.  Annie  returns 
the  salute,  much  to  the  gratification  of  the  elephant,  who 
is  certainly  the  best-bred  monster  in  the  caravan.  The 
lion  and  the  lioness  are  busy  with  two  beef-bones.  The 
royal  tiger,  the  beautiful,  the  untamable,  keeps  pacing 
his  narrow  cage  with  a  haughty  step,  unmindful  of  the 
spectators,  or  recalling  the  fierce  deeds  of  his  former  life, 
when  he  was  wont  to  leap  forth  upon  such  inferior 
animals,  from  the  jungles  of  Bengal. 

Here  we  see  the  very  same  wolf,  —  do  not  go  near 
him,  Annie !  —  the  self-same  wolf  that  devoured  little 
Red  Riding  Hood  and  her  grandmother.  In  the  next 
cage,  a  hyena  from  Egypt,  who  has  doubtless  howled 
around  the  pyramids,  and  a  black  bear  from  our  own 
forests  are  fellow-prisoners,  and  most  excellent  friends. 
Are  there  any  two  living  creatures  who  have  so  few 
sympathies  that  they  cannot  possibly  be  friends  ?  Here 
sits  a  great  white  bear,  whom  common  observers  would 
call  a  very  stupid  beast,  though  I  perceive  him  to  be 
only  absorbed  in  contemplation;  he  is  thinking  of  his 
voyages  on  an  iceberg,  and  of  his  comfortable  home  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  north  pole,  and  of  the  little  cubs  whom 
he  left  rolling  in  the  eternal  snows.  In  fact,  he  is  a  bear 
of  sentiment.  But,  O,  those  unsentimental  monkeys  J 


LITTLE    ANNIE'S    RAMBLE.  139 

the  ugly,  grinning,  aping,  chattering,  ill-natured,  mis- 
chievous, and  queer  little  brutes.  Annie  does  not  love 
the  monkeys.  Their  ugliness  shocks  her  pure,  instinc- 
tive delicacy  of  taste,  and  makes  her  mind  unquiet,  be- 
cause it  bears  a  wild  and  dark  resemblance  to  humanity. 
But  here  is  a  little  pony,  just  big  enough  for  Annie  to 
ride,  and  round  and  round  he  gallops  in  a  circle,  keeping 
time  with  his  trampling  hoofs  to  a  band  of  music.  And 
here,  —  with  a  laced  coau  and  a  cocked  hat,  and  a  riding- 
whip  in  his  hand,  —  here  comes  a  little  gentleman,  small 
enough  to  be  king  of  the  fairies,  and  ugly  enough  to  be 
king  of  the  gnomes,  and  takes  a  flying  leap  into  the 
saddle.  Merrily,  merrily  plays  the  music,  and  merrily 
gallops  the  pony,  and  merrily  rides  the  little  old  gentle- 
man. Come,  Annie,  into  the  street  again ;  perchance  we 
may  see  monkeys  on  horseback  there  ! 

Mercy  on  us,  what  a  noisy  world  we  quiet  people  live 
in !  Did  Annie  ever  read  the  Cries  of  London  City  ? 
With  what  lusty  lungs  doth  yonder  man  proclaim  that 
his  wheelbarrow  is  full  of  lobsters  !  Here  comes  another 
mounted  on  a  cart,  and  blowing  a  hoarse  and  dreadful 
blast  from  a  tin  horn,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Fresh  fish ! " 
And  hark  !  a  voice  on  high,  like  that  of  a  muezzin  from 
the  summit  of  a  mosque,  announcing  that  some  chimney- 
sweeper has  emerged  from  smoke  and  soot,  and  darksome 
caverns,  into  the  upper  air.  What  cares  the  world  for 
that  ?  But,  welladay,  we  hear  a  shrill  voice  of  affliction, 
the  scream  of  a  little  child,  rising  louder  with  every 
repetition  of  that  smart,  sharp,  slapping  sound,  produced 
by  an  open  hand  on  tender  flesh.  Annie  sympathizes, 
though  without  experience  of  such  direful  woe.  Lo! 
the  town  crier  again,  with  some  new  secret  for  the  public 
ear.  Will  he  tell  us  of  an  auction,  or  of  a  lost  pocket- 
book,  or  a  show  of  beautiful  wax  figures,  or  of  some 


140  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

monstrous  beast  more  horrible  than  any  in  the  caravan? 
I  guess  the  latter.  See  how  he  uplifts  the  bell  in  hia 
right  hand,  and  shakes  it  slowly  at  first,  then  with  a 
hurried  motion,  till  the  clapper  seems  to  strike  both  sides 
at  once,  and  the  sounds  are  scattered  forth  in  quick  suc- 
cession, far  and  near. 

Ding-dong  !     Ding-dong !     Ding-dong ! 

Now  he  raises  his  clear,  loud  voice,  above  all  the  din 
of  the  town ;  it  drowns  the  buzzing  talk  of  many  tongues, 
and  draws  each  man's  mind  from  his  own  business ;  it 
rolls  up  and  down  the  echoing  street  and  ascends  to  the 
hushed  chamber  of  the  sick,  and  penetrates  downward  to 
the  cellar  kitchen,  where  the  hot  cook  turns  from  the 
fire  to  listen.  Who,  of  all  that  address  the  public  ear, 
whether  in  church,  or  court-house,  or  hall  of  state,  has 
such  an  attentive  audience  as  the  town  crier  ?  What 
saith  the  people's  orator? 

"  Strayed  from  her  home,  a  LITTLE  GIB.L,  of  five  years 
old,  in  a  blue  silk  frock  and  white  pantalets,  witli  brown 
curling  hair  and  hazel  eyes.  Whoever  will  bring  her 
back  to  her  afflicted  mother  — 

Stop,  stop,  town  crier  !  The  lost  is  found.  O,  my 
pretty  Annie,  we  forgot  to  tell  your  mother  of  our 
ramble,  and  she  is  in  despair,  and  has  sent  the  town 
crier  to  bellow  up  and  down  the  streets,  affrighting  old 
and  young,  for  the  loss  of  a  little  girl  who  has  not  once 
let  go  my  hand !  Well,  let  us  hasten  homeward ;  and 
as  we  go,  forget  not  to  thank  Heaven,  my  Annie,  that, 
after  wandering  a  little  way  into  the  world,  you  may 
return  at  the  first  summons,  with  an  untainted  and  un- 
wearied heart,  and  be  a  happy  child  again.  But  I  have 
gone  too  far  astray  for  the  town  crier  to  call^me  back. 

Sweet  has  been  the  charm  of  childhood  on  my  spirit, 
throughout  my  ramble  with  little  Annie !  Say  not  that 


LITTLE    ANNIE'S    RAMBLE.  141 

it  has  been  a  waste  of  precious  moments,  an  idle  matter, 
a  babble  of  childish  talk,  and  a  revery  of  childish  imagi- 
nations, about  topics  unworthy  of  a  grown  man's  notice- 
Has  it  been  merely  this  ?  Not  so ;  not  so.  They  are 
not  truly  wise  who  would  affirm  it.  As  the  pure  breath 
of  children  revives  the  life  of  aged  men,  so  is  our  moral 
nature  revived  by  their  free  and  simple  thoughts,  their 
native  feeling,  their  airy  mirth,  for  little  cause  or  none, 
their  grief,  soon  roused  and  soon  allayed.  Their  influ- 
ence on  us  is  at  least  reciprocal  with  ours  on  them. 
When  our  infancy  is  almost  forgotten,  and  our  boyhood 
long  departed,  though  it  seems  but  as  yesterday  ;  when 
life  settles  darkly  down  upon  us,  and  we  doubt  whether 
to  call  ourselves  young  any  more,  then  it  is  good  to  steal 
away  from  the  society  of  bearded  men,  and  even  of 
gentler  woman,  and  spend  an  hour  or  two  with  children. 
After  drinking  from  those  fountains  of  still  fresh  exist- 
ence, we  shall  return  into  the  crowd,  as  I  do  now,  to 
struggle  onward  and  do  our  part  in  life,  perhaps  as  fer- 
vently as  ever,  but,  for  a  time,  with  a  kinder  and  purer 
heart,  and  a  spirit  more  lightly  wise.  All  this  by  thy 
sweet  magic,  dear  little  Annie ! 


^«tte^    >C-,^:^WV^ 


WAKEFIELD. 

lijjN  some  old  magazine  or  newspaper,  I  recollect 
|  .1  B  a  story,  told  as  truth,  of  a  man  —  let  us  call 
If^SiJy^l  liim  Wakefield  —  who  absented  himself  for  a 
long  time  from  his  wife.  The  fact  thus  abstractedly 
stated  is  not  very  uncommon,  nor  —  without  a  proper 
distinction  of  circumstances  —  to  be  condemned  either  as 
naughty  or  nonsensical.  Howbeit,  this,  though  far  from 
the  most  aggravated,  is  perhaps  the  strangest  instance 
on  record  of  marital  delinquency ;  and,  moreover,  as 
remarkable  a  freak  as  may  be  found  in  the  whole  list  of 
human  oddities.  The  wedded  couple  lived  in  London. 
The  man,  under  pretence  of  going  a  journey,  took  lodg- 
ings in  the  next  street  to  his  own  house,  and  there,  un- 
heard of  by  his  wife  or  friends,  and  without  the  shadow 
of  a  reason  for  such  self-banishment,  dwelt  upwards  of 
twenty  years.  During  that  period,  he  beheld  his  home 
every  day,  and  frequently  the  forlorn  Mrs.  Wakefield. 
And  after  so  great  a  gap  in  his  matrimonial  felicity  — 
when  his  death  was  reckoned  certain,  his  estate  settled, 
his  name  dismissed  from  memory,  and  his  wife,  long,  long 
ago  resigned  to  her  autumnal  widowhood  —  he  entered 
the  door  one  evening,  quietly,  as  from  a  day's  absence, 
and  became  a  loving  spouse  till  death. 

This  outline  is  all  that  I  remember.     But  the  inci- 


WAKEFIELD.  143 

dent,  though  of  the  purest  originality,  unexampled,  and 
'probably  never  to  be  repeated,  is  one,  I  think,  which 
appeals  to  the  generous  sympathies  of  mankind.  We 
know,  each  for  himself,  that  none  of  us  would  perpetrate 
such  a  folly,  yet  feel  as  if  some  other  might.  To  my 
own  contemplations,  at  least,  it  has  often  recurred,  al- 
ways exciting  wonder,  but  with  a  sense  that  the  story 
must  be  true,  and  a  conception  of  its  hero's  character. 
Whenever  any  subject  so  forcibly  affects  the  mind,  time, 
is  well  spent  in  thinking  of  it.  If  the  reader  choose,  let 
him  do  his  own  meditation;  or  if  he  prefer  to  ramble 
with  me  through  the  twenty  years  of  Wakefield's  vagary, 
I  bid  him  welcome ;  trusting  that  there  will  be  a  per- 
vading spirit  and  a  moral,  even  should  we  fail  to  find 
them,  done  up  neatly,  and  condensed  into  the  final  sen- 
tence. Thought  has  always  its  efficacy,  and  every  strik- 
ing incident  its  moral. 

What  sort  of  a  man  was  Wakefield  ?  We  are  free  to 
shape  out  our  own  idea,  and  call  it  by  his  name.  He 
was  now  in  the  meridian  of  life ;  his  matrimonial  affec- 
tions, never  violent,  were  sobered  into  a  calm,  habitual 
sentiment ;  of  all  husbands,  he  was  likely  to  be  the  most 
constant,  because  a  certain  sluggishness  would  keep  bis 
heart  at  rest,  wherever  it  might  be  placed.  He  was  in- 
tellectual, but  not  actively  so ;  his  mind  occupied  itself 
in  long  and  lazy  musings,  that  tended  to  no  purpose,  or 
had  not  vigor  to  attain  it ;  his  thoughts  were  seldom  so 
energetic  as  to  seize  hold  of  words.  Imagination,  in  the 
proper  meaning  of  the  term,  made  no  part  of  Wakefield's 
gifts.  With  a  cold  but  not  depraved  nor  wandering 
heart,  and  a  mind  never  feverish  with  riotous  thoughts, 
nor  perplexed  with  originality,  who  could  have  antici- 
pated that  our  friend  would  entitle  himself  to  a  foremost 
place  among  the  doers  of  eccentric  deeds?  Had  his 


144  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

.acquaintances  been  asked,  who  was  the  man  in  London, 
the  surest  to  perform  nothing  to-day  which  should  be 
remembered  on  the  morrow,  they  would  have  thought  of 
Wakefield.  Only  the  wife  of  his  bosom  might  have  hes- 
itated. She,  without  having  analyzed  his  character,  was 
partly  aware  of  a  quiet  selfishness,  that  had  rusted  into 
his  inactive  mind,  —  of  a  peculiar  sort  of  vanity,  the  most 
uneasy  attribute  about  him,  —  of  a  disposition  to  craft, 
which  had  seldom  produced  more  positive  effects  than 
the  keeping  of  petty  secrets,  hardly  worth  revealing,  — 
and,  lastly,  of  what  she  called  a  little  strangeness,  some- 
times, in  the  good  man.  This  latter  quality  is  indefina- 
ble, and  perhaps  non-existent. 

Let  us  now  imagine  Wakefield  bidding  adieu  to  his 
wife.  It  is  the  dusk  of  an  October  evening.  His  equip- 
ment is  a  drab  great-coat,  a  hat  covered  with  an  oil-cloth, 
top-boots,  an  umbrella  in  one  hand  and  a  small  portman- 
teau in  the  other.  He  has  informed  Mrs.  Wakefield  that 
he  is  to  take  the  night  coach  into  the  country.  She 
would  fain  inquire  the  length  of  his  journey,  its  object, 
and  the  probable  time  of  his  return;  but,  indulgent  to 
his  harmless  love  of  mystery,  interrogates  him  only  by  a 
look.  He  tells  her  not  to  expect  him  positively  by  the 
return  coach,  nor  to  be  alarmed  should  he  tarry  three  or 
four  days ;  but,  at  all  events,  to  look  for  him  at  supper 
on  Friday  evening.  Wakefield  himself,  be  it  considered, 
has  no  suspicion  of  what  is  before  him.  He  holds  out 
his  hand ;  she  gives  her  own,  and  meets  his  parting  kiss, 
in  the  matter-of-course  way  of  a  ten  years'  matrimony ; 
and  forth  goes  the  middle-aged  Mr.  Wakefield,  almost 
resolved  to  perplex  his  good  lady  by  a  whole  week's  ab- 
sence. After  the  door  has  closed  behind  him,  she  per- 
ceives it  thrust  partly  open,  and  a  vision  of  her  husband's 
face,  through  the  aperture,  smiling  on  her,  and  gone  in  a 


WAKEFIELD.  145 

moment.  For  the  time,  this  little  incident  is  dismissed 
without  a  thought.  But,  long  afterwards,  when  she  has 
been  more  years  a  widow  than  a  wife,  that  smile  recurs, 
and  nickers  across  all  her  reminiscences  of  Wakefield's 
visage.  In  her  many  musings,  she  surrounds  the  original 
smile  with  a  multitude  of  fantasies,  which  make  it  strange 
and  awful ;  as,  for  instance,  if  she  imagines  him  in  a  coffin, 
that  parting  look  is  frozen  on  his  pale  features ;  or,  if  she 
dreams  of  him  in  heaven,  still  his  blessed  spirit  wears  a 
quiet  and  crafty  smile.  Yet,  for  its  sake,  when  all  others 
have  given  him  up  for  dead,  she  sometimes  doubts 
whether  she  is  a  widow. 

But  our  business  is  with  the  husband.  We  must 
hurry  after  him,  along  the  street,  ere  he  lose  his  indi- 
viduality, and  melt  into  the  great  mass  of  London  life. 
It  would  be  vain  searching  for  him  there.  Let  us  follow 
close  at  his  heels,  therefore,  until,  after  several  superflu- 
ous turns  and  doublings,  we  find  him  comfortably  estab- 
lished by  the  fireside  of  a  small  apartment,  previously 
bespoken.  He  is  in  the  next  street  to  his  own,  and  at 
his  journey's  end.  He  can  scarcely  t"ust  his  good  fortune 
in  having  got  thither  unperceived,  —  recollecting  that,  at 
one  time,  he  was  delayed  by  the  throng,  in  the  very  focus 
of  a  lighted  lantern;  and,  again,  there  were  footsteps, 
that  seemed  to  tread  behind  his  own,  distinct  from  the 
multitudinous  tramp  around  him ;  and,  anon,  he  heard  a 
voice  shouting  afar,  and  fancied  that  it  called  his  name. 
Doubtless,  a  dozen  busybodies  had  been  watching  him, 
and  told  his  wife  the  whole  affair.  Poor  Wakefield ! 
Little  knowest  thou  thine  own  insignificance  in  this 
great  world !  No  mortal  eye  but  mine  has  traced  thee. 
Go  quietly  to  thy  bed,  foolish  man  ;  and,  on  the  morrow, 
if  thou  wilt  be  wise,  get  thee  home  to  good  Mrs.  Wake- 
field,  and  tell  her  the  truth.  Remove  not  thyself,  even 


146  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

for  a  little  week,  from  thy  place  in  her  chaste  bosom. 
Were  she,  for  a  single  moment,  to  deem  thee  dead,  or 
lost,  or  lastingly  divided  from  her,  thou  wouldst  be  wo- 
fully  conscious  of  a  change  in  thy  true  wife,  forever  after. 
It  is  perilous  to  make  a  chasm  in  human  affections ;  not 
that  they  gape  so  long  and  wide,  but  so  quickly  close 


Almost  repenting  of  his  frolic,  or  whatever  it  may  be 
termed,  Wakefield  lies  down  betimes,  and  starting  from 
his  first  nap,  spreads  forth  his  arms  into  the  wide  and 
solitary  waste  of  the  unaccustomed  bed.  "  No,"  —  thinks 
he,  gathering  the  bedclothes  about  him,  —  "I  will  not 
sleep  alone  another  night." 

In  the  morning,  he  rises  earlier  than  usual,  and  sets 
himself  to  consider  what  he  really  means  to  do.  Such 
are  his  loose  and  rambling  modes  of  thought,  that  he  has 
taken  this  very  singular  step,  with  the  consciousness  of 
a  purpose,  indeed,  but  without  being  able  to  define  it 
sufficiently  for  his  own  contemplation.  The  vagueness 
of  the  project,  and  the  convulsive  effort  with  which  he 
plunges  into  the  execution  of  it,  are  equally  characteristic 
of  a  feeble-minded  man.  Wakefield  sifts  his  ideas,  how- 
ever, as  minutely  as  he  may,  and  finds  himself  curious  to 
know  the  progress  of  matters  at  home,  —  how  his  exem- 
plary wife  will  endure  her  widowhood  of  a  week ;  and, 
briefly,  how  the  little  sphere  of  creatures  and  circum- 
stances, in  which  he  was  a  central  object,  will  be  affected 
by  his  removal.  A  morbid  vanity,  therefore,  lies  nearest 
the  bottom  of  the  affair.  But,  how  is  he  to  attain  his 
ends  ?  Not,  certainly,  by  keeping  close  in  this  comfort- 
able lodging,  where,  though  he  slept  and  awoke  in  the 
next  street  to  his  home,  he  is  as  effectually  abroad,  as  if 
the  stage-coach  had  been  whirling  him  away  all  night. 
Yet,  should  he  reappear,  the  whole  project  is  knocked  in 


WAKEFIELD.  147 

the  head.  His  poor  brains  being  hopelessly  puzzled  with 
this  dilemma,  he  at  length  ventures  out,  partly  resolving 
to  cross  the  head  of  the  street,  and  send  one  hasty  glance 
towards  his  forsaken  domicile.  Habit  —  for  he  is  a  man 
of  habits  —  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and  guides  him, 
wholly  unaware,  to  his  own  door,  where,  just  at  the 
critical  moment,  he  is  aroused  by  the  scraping  of  his 
foot  upon  the  step.  Wakefield!  whither  are  you 
going  ? 

At  that  instant,  his  fate  was  turning  on  the  pivot. 
Little  dreaming  of  the  doom  to  which  his  first  backward 
step  devotes  him,  he  hurries  away,  breathless  with  agita- 
tion hitherto  uufelt,  and  hardly  dares  turn  his  head,  at 
the  distant  corner.  Can  it  be  that  nobody  caught  sight 
of  him?  Will  not  the  whole  household  —  the  decent 
Mrs.  Wakefield,  the  smart  maid-servant,  and  the  dirty 
little  footboy  —  raise  a  hue  and  cry,  through  London 
streets,  in  pursuit  of  their  fugitive  lord  and  master? 
Wonderful  escape !  He  gathers  courage  to  pause  and 
look  homeward,  but  is  perplexed  with  a  sense  of  change 
about  the  familiar  edifice,  such  as  affects  us  all,  when, 
after  a  separation  of  months  or  years,  we  again  see  some 
hill  or  lake,  or  work  of  art,  with  which  we  were  friends 
of  old.  In  ordinary  cases,  this  indescribable  impression 
is  caused  by  the  comparison  and  contrast  between  our 
imperfect  reminiscences  asid  the  reality.  In  Wakefield, 
the  magic  of  a  single  night  has  wrought  a  similar  trans- 
formation, because,  in  that  brief  period,  a  great  moral 
change  has  been  effected.  But  this  is  a  secret  from  him- 
self. Before  leaving  the  spot,  he  catches  a  far  and  mo- 
mentary glimpse  of  his  wife,  passing  athwart  the  front 
window,  with  her  face  turned  towards  the  head  of  the 
street.  The  crafty  nincompoop  takes  to  his  heels,  scared 
with  the  idea,  that,  among  a  thousand  such  atoms  of 


148  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

mortality,  her  eye  must  have  detected  him.  Right  glad 
is  his  heart,  though  his  brain  be  somewhat  dizzy,  when 
he  finds  himself  by  the  coal-fire  of  his  lodgings. 

So  much  for  the  commencement  of  this  long  whim- 
wham.  After  the  initial  conception,  and  the  stirring 
up  of  the  man's  sluggish  temperament  to  put  it  in  prac- 
tice, the  whole  matter  evolves  itself  in  a  natural  train. 
We  may  suppose  him,  as  the  result  of  deep  deliberation, 
buying  a  new  wig,  of  reddish  hair,  and  selecting  sundry 
garments,  in  a  fashion  unlike  his  customary  suit  of 
brown,  from  a  Jew's  old-clothes  bag.  It  is  accom- 
plished. Wakefield  is  another  man.  The  new  system 
being  now  established,  a  retrograde  movement  to  the 
old  would  be  almost  as  difficult  as  the  step  that  placed 
him  in  his  unparalleled  position.  Furthermore,  he  is 
rendered  obstinate  by  a  sulkiness,  occasionally  incident 
to  his  temper,  and  brought  on,  at  present,  by  the  inade- 
quate sensation  which  he  conceives  to  have  been  pro- 
duced in  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Wakefield.  He  will  not  go 
back  until  she  be  frightened  half  to  death.  Well ;  twice 
or  thrice  has  she  passed  before  his  sight,  each  time  with 
a  heavier  step,  a  paler  cheek,  and  more  anxious  brow; 
and  in  the-  third  week  of  his  non-appearance,  he  detects 
a  portent  of  evil  entering  the  house,  in  the  guise  of  an 
apothecary.  Next  day,  the  knocker  is  muffled.  Towards 
nightfall  comes  the  chariot  of  a  physician,  and  deposits 
its  big-wigged  and  solemn  burden  at  Wakefield's  door, 
whence,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  visit,  he  emerges, 
perchance  the  herald  of  a  funeral.  Dear  woman !  Will 
she  die?  By  tin's  time,  Wakefield  is  excited  to  some- 
thing like  energy  of  feeling,  but  still  lingers  away  from 
his  wife's  bedside,  pleading  with  his  conscience,  that  she 
must  not  be  disturbed  at  such  a  juncture.  If  aught  else 
restrains  him,  he  does  not  know  it.  In  the  course  of  a 


WAKEFIELD.  149 

few  weeks,  she  gradually  recovers;  the  crisis  is  over; 
her  heart  is  sad,  perhaps,  but  quiet ;  and,  let  him  return, 
soon  or  late,  it  will  never  be  feverish  for  him  again. 
Such  ideas  glimmer  through  the  mist  of  Wakefield's 
mind,  and  render  him  indistinctly  conscious  that  an 
almost  impassable  gulf  divides  his  hired  apartment  from 
his  former  home.  "It  is  but  in  the  next  street!"  he 
sometimes  says.  Tool!  it  is  in  another  world.  Hith- 
erto, he  has  put  off  his  return  from  one  particular  day 
to  another;  henceforward,  he  leaves  the  precise  time 
undetermined.  Not  to-morrow, — probably  next  week, 
—  pretty  soon.  Poor  man!  The  dead  have  nearly  as 
much  chance  of  revisiting  their  earthly  homes,  as  the 
self-banished  Wakefield. 

Would  that  I  had  a  folio  to  write,  instead  of  an  article 
of  a  dozen  pages  !  Then  might  I  exemplify  how  an  in- 
fluence, beyond  our  control,  lays  its  strong  hand  on 
every  deed  which  we  do,  and  weaves  its  consequences 
into  an  iron  tissue  of  necessity.  Wakefield  is  spell- 
bound. We  must  leave  him,  for  ten  years  or  so,  to 
haunt  around  his  house,  without  once  crossing  the  thresh- 
old, and  to  be  faithful  to  his  wife,  with  all  the  affection 
of  which  his  heart  is  capable,  while  he  is  slowly  fading 
out  of  hers.  Long  since,  it  must  be  remarked,  he  has 
lost  the  perception  of  singularity  in  his  conduct. 

Now  for  a  scene !  Amid  the  throng  of  a  London 
street,  we  distinguish  a  man,  now  waxing  elderly,  with 
few  characteristics  to  attract  careless  observers,  yet  bear- 
ing, in  his  whole  aspect,  the  handwriting  of  no  common 
fate,  for  such  as  have  the  skill  to  read  it.  He  is  mea- 
gre ;  his  low  and  narrow  forehead  is  deeply  wrinkled ; 
his  eyes,  small  and  lustreless,  sometimes  wander  appre- 
hensively about  him,  but  oftener  seem  to  Jook  inward. 
He  bends  his  head,  and  moves  with  an  indescribable 


150  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

obliquity  of  gait,  as  if  unwilling  to  display  his  full  front 
to  the  world.  Watch  him,  long  enough  to  see  what  we 
have  described,  and  you  will  allow,  that  circumstances 
—  which  often  produce  remarkable  men  from  nature's 
ordinary  handiwork  —  have  produced  one  such  here. 
Next,  leaving  him  to  sidle  along  the  footwalk,  cast  your 
eyes  in  the  opposite  direction,  where  a  portly  female, 
considerably  in  the  wane  of  life,  with  a  prayer-book  in 
her  hand,  is  proceeding  to  yonder  church.  She  has  the 
placid  mien  of  settled  widowhood.  Her  regrets  have 
either  died  away,  or  have  become  so  essential  to  her 
heart,  that  they  would  be  poorly  exchanged  for  joy. 
Just  as  the  lean  man  and  well-conditioned  woman  are 
passing,  a  slight  obstruction  occurs,  and  brings  these 
two  figures  directly  in  contact.  Their  hands  touch; 
the  pressure  of  the  crowd  forces  her  bosom  against  his 
shoulder;  they  stand,  face  to  face,  staring  into  each 
other's  eyes.  After  a  ten  years'  separation,  thus  Wake- 
field  meets  his  wife ! 

The  throng  eddies  away,  and  carries  them  asunder. 
The  sober  widow,  resuming  her  former  pace,  proceeds 
to  church,  but  pauses  in  the  portal,  and  throws  a  per- 
plexed glance  along  the  street.  She  passes  in,  however, 
opening  her  prayer-book  as  she  goes.  And  the  man! 
with  so  wild  a  face,  that  busy  and  selfish  London  stands 
to  gaze  after  him,  he  hurries  to  his  lodgings,  bolts  the 
door,  and  throws  himself  upon  the  bed.  The  latent  feel- 
ings of  years  break  out ;  his  feeble  mind  acquires  a  brief 
energy  from  their  strength ;  all  the  miserable  strangeness 
of  his  life  is  revealed  to  him  at  a  glance :  and  he  cries 
out,  passionately,  "Wakefield!  Wakefield !  You  are 
mad ! " 

Perhaps  he,  was  so.  The  singularity  of  his  situation 
must  have  so  moulded  him  to  himself,  that,  considered  in 


WAKEFIELD.  151 

regard  to  his  fellow-creatures  and  the  business  of  life,  he 
could  not  be  said  to  possess  his  right  mind.  He  had 
contrived,  or  rather  he  had  happened,  to  dissever  himself 
from  the  world,  —  to  vanish,  —  to  give  up  his  place  and 
privileges  with  living '  men,  without  being  admitted 
among  the  dead.  The  life  of  a  hermit  is  nowise  parallel 
to  his.  He  was  in  the  bustle  of  the  city,  as  of  old ;  but 
the  crowd  swept  by,  and  saw  him  not ;  he  was,  we  may 
figuratively  say,  always  beside  his  wife,  and  at  his  hearth, 
yet  must  never  feel  the  warmth  of  the  one,  nor  the  affec- 
tion of  the  other.  It  was  Wakefield's  unprecedented  fate, 
to  retain  his  original  share  of  human  sympathies,  and  to 
be  still  involved  in  human  interests,  while  he  had  lost 
his  reciprocal  influence  on  them.  It  would  be  a  most 
curious  speculation,  to  trace  out  the  effect  of  such  cir- 
cumstances on  his  heart  and  intellect,  separately,  and  in 
unison.  Yet,  changed  as  he  was,  he  would  seldom  be 
conscious  of  it,  but  deem  himself  the  same  man  as  ever; 
glimpses  of  the  truth,  indeed,  would  come,  but  only  for 
the  moment ;  and  still  he  would  keep  saying,  "  I  shall 
soon  go  back !  "  nor  reflect  that  he  had  been  saying  so 
for  twenty  years. 

I  conceive,  also,  that  these  twenty  years  would  ap- 
pear, in  the  retrospect,  scarcely  longer  than  the  week  to 
which  Wakefield  had  at  first  limited  his  absence.  He 
would  look  on  the  affair  as  no  more  than  an  interlude  in 
the  main  business  of  his  life.  When,  after  a  little  while 
more,  he  should  deem  it  time  to  re-enter  his  parlor,  his 
wife  would  clap  her  hands  for  joy,  on  beholding  the  mid- 
dle-aged Mr.  Wakefield.  Alas,  what  a  mistake  !  Would 
Time  but  await  the  close  of  our  favorite  follies,  we  should 
be  young  men,  all  of  us,  and  till  Doomsday. 

One  evening,  in  the  twentieth  year  since  he  vanished, 
Wakefield  is  taking  his  customary  walk  towards  the 


152  TWICE-TOLD   TALES, 

dwelling  which  he  still  calls  his  own.  It  is  a  gusty  night 
of  autumn,  with  frequent  showers,  that  patter  down 
upon  the  pavement,  and  are  gone,  before  a  man  can  put 
up  his  umbrella.  Pausing  near  the  house,  Wakefield 
discerns,  through  the  parlor  windows  of  the  second  floor, 
the  red  glow,  and  the  glimmer  aud  fitful  flash  of  a  com- 
fortable fire.  On  the  ceiling  appears  a  grotesque  shadow 
of  good  Mrs.  Wakefield.  The  cap,  the  nose  and  chin,  and 
the  broad  waist  form  an  admirable  caricature,  which 
dances,  moreover,  with  the  up-flickering  and  down-sink- 
ing blaze,  almost  too  merrily  for  the  shade  of  an  elderly 
widow.  At  this  instant,  a  shower  chances  to  fall,  and 
is  driven,  by  the  unmannerly  gust,  full  into  Wakefield's 
face  and  bosom.  He  is  quite  penetrated  with  its  autum- 
nal chill.  Shall  he  stand,  wet  and  shivering  here,  when 
his  own  hearth  has  a  good  fire  to  warm  him,  and  his  own 
wife  will  run  to  fetch  the  gray  coat  and  small-clothes, 
which  doubtless  she  has  kept  earefully  in  the  closet  of 
their  bedchamber  ?  No !  Wakefield  is  no  such  fool. 
He  ascends  the  steps,  —  heavily  !  —  for  twenty  years 
have  stiffened  his  legs,  since  he  came  down,  —  but  he 
knows  it  not.  Stay,  Wakefield  !  Would  you  go  to  the 
sole  home  that  is  left  you  ?  Then  step  into  your  grave  ! 
The  door  opens.  As  he  passes  in,  we  have  a  parting 
glimpse  of  his  visage,  and  recognize  the  crafty  smile, 
which  was  the  precursor  of  the  little  joke  that  he  has 
ever  since  been  playing  off  at  his  wife's  expense.  How 
unmercifully  has  he  quizzed  the  poor  woman !  Well,  a 
good  night's  rest  to  Wakefield  ! 

This  happy  event  —  supposing  it  to  be  such  —  could 
only  have  occurred  at  an  unpremeditated  moment.  We 
will  not  follow  our  friend  across  the  threshold.  He  has 
left  us  much  food  for  thought,  a  portion  of  which  shall 
lend  its  wisdom  to  a  moral,  and  be  shaped  into  a  figure. 


WAKEFIELD. 


153 


Amid  the  seeming  confusion  of  our  mysterious  world,  in- 
dividuals are  so  nicely  adjusted  to  a  system,  and  systems 
to  one  another,  and  to  a  whole,  that,  by  stepping  aside 
for  a  moment,  a  man  exposes  himself  to  a  fearful  risk  of 
losing  his  place  forever.  Like  Wakefield,  he  may  be- 
come, as  it  were,  the  Outcast  of  the  Universe. 


A  RILL  PROM  THE  TOWN  PUMP. 

(SCENE.  —  The  corner  of  two  principal  streets.*     The  TOWN 
PUMP  talking  throuyh  its  nose.) 

)ON,  by  the  North  clock  !     Noon,  by  the  east ! 
High  noon,  too,  by  these  hot  sunbeams,  which 

fall,  scarcely  aslope,  upon  my  head,  and  almost 

make  the  water  bubble  and  smoke,  in  the  trough  under 
my  nose.  Truly,  we  public  characters  have  a  tough 
time  of  it !  And,  among  all  the  town  officers,  chosen  at 
March  meeting,  where  is  he  that  sustains,  for  a  single 
year,  the  burden  of  such  manifold  duties  as  are  imposed, 
in  perpetuity,  upon  the  Town  Pump  ?  The  title  of 
"  town  treasurer  "  is  rightfully  mine,  as  guardian  of  the 
best  treasure  that  the  town  has.  The  overseers  of  the 
poor  ought  to  make  me  their  chairman,  since  I  provide 
bountifully  for  the  pauper,  without  expense  to  him  that 
pays  taxes.  I  am  at  the  head  of  the  fire  department, 
and  one  of  the  physicians  to  the  board  of  health.  As  a 
keeper  of  the  peace,  all  water  drinkers  will  confess  me 
equal  to  the  constable.  I  perform  some  of  the  duties  of 
the  town  clerk,  by  promulgating  public  notices,  when 
they  are  posted  on  my  front.  To  speak  within  bounds, 
I  am  the  chief  person  of  the  municipality,  and  exhibit, 

*  Essex  and  Washington  Streets,  Salem. 


A    RILL    FEOM    THE    TOWN    PUMP.  155 

moreover,  an  admirable  pattern  to  my  brother  officers, 
by  the  cool,  steady,  upright,  downright,  and  impartial 
discharge  of  my  business,  and  the  constancy  with  which 
I  stand  to  my  post.  Summer  or  winter,  nobody  seeks 
me  in  vain ;  for,  all  day  long,  I  am  seen  at  the  busiest 
corner,  just  above  the  market,  stretching  out  my  arms, 
to  rich  and  poor  alike ;  and  at  night,  I  hold  a  lantern 
over  my  head,  both  to  show  where  I  am,  and  keep  peo- 
ple out  of  the  gutters. 

At  this  sultry  noontide,  I  am  cupbearer  to  the  parched 
populace,  for  whose  benefit  an  iron  goblet  is  chained  to 
my  waist.  Like  a  dram-seller  on  the  mall,  at  muster- 
day,  I  cry  aloud  to  all  and  sundry,  in  my  plainest  ac- 
cents, and  at  the  very  tiptop  of  my  voice.  Here  it  is, 
gentlemen !  Here  is  the  good  liquor !  Walk  up,  walk 
up,  gentlemen,  walk  up,  walk  up !  Here  is  the  supe- 
rior stuff!  Here  is  the  unadulterated  ale  of  father 
Adam,  —  better  than  Cognac,  Hollands,  Jamaica,  strong 
beer,  or  wine  of  any  price ;  here  it  is,  by  the  hogshead 
or  the  single  glass,  and  not  a  cent  to  pay !  Walk  up, 
gentlemen,  walk  up,  and  help  yourselves  ! 

It  were  a  pity,  if  all  this  outcry  should  draw  no 
customers.  Here  they  come.  A  hot  day,  gentlemen! 
Quaff,  and  away  again,  so  as  to  keep  yourselves  in  a 
nice  cool  sweat.  You,  my  friend,  will  need  another 
cupful,  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your  throat,  if  it  be  as 
thick  there  as  it  is  on  your  cowhide  shoes.  I  see  that 
you  have  trudged  half  a  score  of  miles  to-day ;  and,  like 
a  wise  man,  have  passed  by  the  taverns,  and  stopped  at 
the  running  brooks  and  well-curbs.  Otherwise,  betwixt 
heat  without  and  fire  within,  you  would  have  been 
burned  to  a  cinder,  or  melted  down  to  nothing  at  all, 
in  the  fashion  of  a  jelly-fish.  Drink,  and  make  room 
for  that  other  fellow,  who  seeks  my  aid  to  quench  the 


156  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

fiery  fever  of  last  night's  potations,  which  he  drained 
from  no  cup  of  mine.  Welcome,  most  rubicund  sir ! 
You  and  I  have  been  great  strangers,  hitherto ;  nor,  to 
confess  the  truth,  will  my  nose  be  anxious  for  a  closer 
intimacy,  till  the  fumes  of  your  breath  be  a  little  less 
potent.  Mercy  on  you,  man  !  the  water  absolutely 
hisses  down  your  red-hot  gullet,  and  is  converted  quite 
to  steam,  in  the  miniature  tophet,  which  you  mistake 
for  a  stomach.  Fill  again .  and  tell  me,  on  the  word  of 
an  honest  toper,  did  you  ever,  in  cellar,  tavern,  or  any 
kind  of  a  dram-shop,  spend  the  price  of  your  children's 
food  for  a  swig  half  so  delicious  ?  Now,  for  the  first 
time  these  ten  years,  you  know  the  flavor  of  cold  water. 
Good  by ;  and,  whenever  you  are  thirsty,  remember  that 
I  keep  a  constant  supply,  at  the  old  stand.  Who  next  ? 
O,  my  little  friend,  you  are  let  loose  from  school,  and 
come  hither  to  scrub  your  blooming  face,  and  drown 
the  memory  of  certain  taps  of  the  ferule,  and  other 
school-boy  troubles,  in  a  draught  from  the  Town  Pump. 
Take  it,  pure  as  the  current  of  your  young  life.  Take 
it,  and  may  your  heart  and  tongue  never  be  scorched 
with  a  fiercer  thirst  than  now !  There,  my  dear  child, 
put  down  the  cup,  and  yield  your  place  to  this  elderly 
gentleman,  who  treads  so  tenderly  over  the  paving- 
stones,  that  I  suspect  he  is  afraid  of  breaking  them. 
What !  he  limps  by,  without  so  much  as  thanking  me, 
as  if  my  hospitable  oifers  were  meant  only  for  people 
who  have  no  wine-cellars.  Well,  well,  sir, — no  harm 
done,  I  hope !  Go  draw  the  cork,  tip  the  decanter ; 
but,  when  your  great  toe  shall  set  you  a-roaring,  it  will 
be  no  affair  of  mine.  If  gentlemen  love  the  pleasant 
titillation  of  the  gout,  it  is  all  one  to  the  Town  Pump. 
This  thirsty  dog,  with  his  red  tongue  lolling  out,  does 
not  scorn  my  hospitality,  but  stands  on  his  hind  legs, 


A  RILL  FROM  THE  TOWN  PUMP.     157 

-and  laps  eagerly  out  of  the  trough.  See  how  lightly 
he  capers  away  again  !  Jowler,  did  your  worship  ever 
have  the  gout  ? 

Are  you  all  satisfied?  Then  wipe  your  mouths,  my 
good  friends  ;  and,  while  my  spout  has  a  moment's  leis- 
ure, I  will  delight  the  town  with  a  few  historical  remi- 
niscences. In  far  antiquity,  beneath  a  darksome  shadow 
of  venerable  boughs,  a  spring  bubbled  out  of  the  leaf- 
strewn  earth,  in  the  very  spot  where  you  now  behold 
me,  on  the  sunny  pavement.  The  water  was  as  bright 
and  clear,  and  deemed  as  precious,  as  liquid  diamonds. 
The  Indian  sagamores  drank  of  it,  from  time  immemo- 
rial, till  the  fatal  deluge  of  the  fire-water  burst  upon  the 
red  men,  and  swept  their  whole  race  away  from  the  cold 
fountains.  Endicott,  and  his  followers,  came  next,  and 
often  knelt  down  to  drink,  dipping  their  long  beards  in 
the  spring.  The  richest  goblet,  then,  was  of  birch-bark. 
Governor  Winthrop,  after  a  journey  afoot  from  Boston, 
drank  here,  out  of  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  The  elder 
Higginson  here  wet  his  palm,  and  laid  it  on  the  brow  of 
the  first  town-born  child.  For  many  years  it  was  the 
•watering-place,  and,  as  it  were,  the  wash-bowl  of  the 
vicinity,  —  whither  all  decent  folks  resorted,  to  purify 
their  visages,  and  gaze  at  them  afterwards  —  at  least, 
the  pretty  maidens  did  —  in  the  mirror  which  it  made. 
On  Sabbath  days,  whenever  a  babe  was  to  be  baptized, 
the  sexton  filled  his  basin  here,  and  placed  it  on  the 
communion-table  of  the  humble  meeting-house,  which 
partly  covered  the  site  of  yonder  stately  brick  one. 
Thus,  one  generation  after  another  was  consecrated  to 
Heaven  by  its  waters,  and  cast  their  waxing  and  waning 
shadows  into  its  glassy  bosom,  and  vanished  from  the 
curtli,  as  if  mortal  life  were  but  a  flitting  image  in  a 
fountain.  Finally,  the  fountain  vanished  also.  Cellars 


158  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

were  dug  on  all  sides,  and  cartloads  of  gravel  flung 
upon  its  source,  whence  oozed  a  turbid  stream,  forming 
a  mud-puddle,  at  the  corner'of  two  streets.  In  the  hot 
months,  when  its  refreshment  was  most  needed,  the 
dust  flew  in  clouds  over  the  forgotten  birthplace  of  the 
waters,  now  their  grave.  But,  in  the  course  of  time,  a 
Town  Pump  was  sunk  into  the  source  of  the  ancient 
spring;  and  when  the  first  decayed,  another  took  its 
place,  —  and  then  another,  and  still  another,  —  till  here 
stand  I,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  to  serve  you  with  my 
iron  goblet.  Drink,  and  be  refreshed !  The  water  is 
as  pure  and  cold  as  that  which  slaked  the  thirst  of  the 
red  sagamore,  beneath  the  aged  boughs,  though  now 
the  gem  of  the  wilderness  is  treasured  under  these  hot 
stones,  where  no  shadow  falls,  but  from  the  brick 
buildings.  And  be  it  the  moral  of  my  story,  that,  as 
this  wasted  and  long-lost  fountain  is  now  known  and 
prized  again,  so  shall  the  virtues  of  cold  water,  too  little 
valued  since  your  father's  days,  be  recognized  by  all. 

Your  pardon,  good  people!  I  must  interrupt  my 
stream  of  eloquence,  and  spout  forth  a  stream  of-  water,  to 
replenish  the  trough  for  this  teamster  and  his  two  yoke  of 
oxen,  who  have  come  from  Topsfield,  or  somewhere  along 
that  way.  No  part  of  my  business  is  pleasanter  than  the 
watering  of  cattle.  Look  !  how  rapidly  they  lower  the 
water-mark  on  the  sides  of  the  trough,  till  their  capacious 
stomachs  are  moistened  with  a  gallon  or  two  apiece,  and 
they  can  afford  time  to  breathe  it  in,  with  sighs  of  calm 
enjoyment.  Now  they  roll  their  quiet  eyes  around  the 
brim  of  their  monstrous  drinking-vessel.  An  ox  is  your 
true  toper. 

But  I  perceive,  my  dear  auditors,  that  you  are  impatient 
for  the  remainder  of  my  discourse.  Impute  it,  I  beseech 
you,  to  no  defect  of  modesty,  if  I  insist  a  little  longer  on 


A    RILL    FEO3I    THE    TOWN    PUMP.  159 

so  fruitful  a  topic  as  my  own  multifarious  merits.  It  is 
altogether  for  your  good.  The  better  you  think  of  me, 
the  better  men  and  women  will  you  find  yourselves.  I 
shall  say  nothing  of  my  all-important  aid  on  washing- 
days  ;  though,  on  that  account  alone,  I  might  call  myself 
the  household  god  of  a  hundred  families.  Far  be  it  from 
me  also  to  hint,  my  respectable  friends,  at  the  show  of 
dirty  faces  which  you  would  present,  without  my  pains  to 
keep  you  clean.  Nor  will  I  remind  you  how  often  when 
the  midnight  bells  make  you  tremble  for  your  combustible 
town,  you  have  fled  to  the  Town  Pump,  and  found  me 
always  at  my  post,  firm  amid  the  confusion,  and  ready 
to  drain  my  vital  current  in  your  behalf.  Neither  is  it 
worth  while  to  lay  much  stress  on  my  claims  to  a  medical 
diploma,  as  the  physician,  whose  simple  rule  of  practice  is 
preferable  to  all  the  nauseous  lore,  which  has  found  men 
sick  or  left  them  so,  since  the  days  of  Hippocrates.  Let 
us  take  a  broader  view  of  my  beneficial  influence  on  man- 
kind. 

No ;  these  are  trifles,  compared  with  the  merits  which 
wise  men  concede  to  me,  —  if  not  in  my  single  self,  yet  as 
the  representative  of  a  class  —  of  being  the  grand  reformer 
of  the  age.  From  my  spout,  and  such  spouts  as  mine, 
must  flow  the  stream  that  shall  cleanse  our  earth  of  the 
vast  portion  of  its  crime  and  anguish,  which  has  gushed 
from  the  fiery  fountains  of  the  still.  In  this  mighty  en- 
terprise, the  cow  shall  be  my  great  confederate.  Milk 
and  water!  The  TOWN  PUMP  and  the  Cow!  Such 
is  the  glorious  copartnership,  that  shall  tear  down  the 
distilleries  and  brewhouses,  uproot  the  vineyards,  shat- 
ter the  cider-presses,  ruin  the  tea  and  coffee  trade,  and 
finally  monopolize  the  whole  business  of  quenching  thirst. 
Blessed  consummation  !  Then  Poverty  shall  pass  away 
from  the  laud,  finding  so  hovel  so  wretched,  where  her 


160  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

squalid  form  may  shelter  itself.  Then  Disease,  for  lack  of 
other  victims,  shall  gnaw  its  own  heart,  and  die.  Then 
Sin,  if  she  do  not  die,  shall  lose  half  her  strength.  Until 
now,  the  frenzy  of  hereditary  fever  has  raged  iu  the 
human  blood,  transmitted  from  sire  to  son,  and  rekindled 
in  every  generation,  by  fresh  draughts  of  liquid  flame. 
When  that  inward  fire  shall  be  extinguished,  the  heat 
of  passion  cannot  but  grow  cool,  and  war  —  the  drunk- 
enness of  nations  —  perhaps  will  cease.  At  least,  there 
will  be  no  war  of  households.  The  husband  and  wife, 
drinking  deep  of  peaceful  joy,  —  a  calm  bliss  of  temperate 
affections,  —  shall  pass  hand  iu  hand  through  life,  and  lie 
down,  not  reluctantly,  at  its  protracted  close.  To  them, 
the  past  will  be  no  turmoil  of  mad  dreams,  nor  the  future 
an  eternity  of  such  moments  as  follow  the  delirium  of  the 
drunkard.  Their  dead  faces  shall  express  what  their, 
spirits  were,  and  are  to  be,  by  a  lingering  smile  of  mem- 
ory and  hope. 

Ahem  !  Dry  work,  this  speechifying ;  especially  to  an 
unpractised  orator.  I  never  conceived,  till  now,  what 
toil  the  temperance  lecturers  undergo  for  my  sake.  Here- 
after, they  shall  have  the  business  to  themselves.  Do, 
some  kind  Christian,  pump  a  stroke  or  two,  just  to  wet 
my  whistle.  Thank  you,  sir !  My  dear  hearers,  when 
the  world  shall  have  been  regenerated  by  my  instrumen- 
tality, you  will  collect  your  useless  vats  and  liquor-casks 
into  one  great  pile,  and  make  a  bonfire,  in  honor  of  the 
Town  Pump.  And,  when  I  shall  have  decayed,  like  my 
predecessors,  then,  if  you  revere  my  memory,  let  a  mar- 
ble fountain,  richly  sculptured,  take  my  place  upon  this 
spot.  Such  monuments  should  be  erected  everywhere, 
and  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  distinguished  cham- 
pions of  my  cause.  Now  listen ;  for  something  very  im- 
portant is  to  come  next. 


A    RILL    FROM    THE    TOWN    PUMP.  161 

There  are  two  or  three  honest  friends  of  mine  —  and 
true  friends,  I  know,  they  are  —  who,  nevertheless,  by 
their  fiery  pugnacity  in  my  behalf,  do  put  me  in  fearful 
hazard  of  a  broken  nose  or  even  a  total  overthrow  upon 
the  pavement,  and  the  loss  of  the  treasure  which  I  guard. 
I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  let  this  fault  be  amended.  Is  it 
decent,  think  you,  to  get  tipsy  with  zeal  for  temperance, 
and  take  up  the  honorable  cause  of  the  Town  Pump  in 
the  style  of  a  toper,  fighting  for  his  brandy -bottle  ?  Or, 
can  the  excellent  qualities  of  cold  water  be  not  otherwise 
exemplified,  than  by  plunging  slapdash  into  hot  water, 
and  wofully  scalding  yourselves  and  other  people  ?  Trust 
me,  they  may.  In  the  moral  warfare,  which  you  are  to 
wage,  —  and,  indeed,  in  the  whole  conduct  of  your  lives, 
—  you  cannot  choose  a  better  example  than  myself,  who 
have  never  permitted  the  dust  and  sultry  atmosphere,  the 
turbulence  and  manifold  disquietudes  of  the  world  around 
me,  to  reach  that  deep,  calm  well  of  purity,  which  may 
be  called  my  soul.  And  whenever  I  pour  out  that  soul, 
it  is  to  cool  earth's  fever,  or  cleanse  its  stains. 

One  o'clock  !  Nay,  then,  if  the  dinner-bell  begins  to 
speak,  I  may  as  well  hold  my  peace.  Here  comes  a 
pretty  young  girl  of  my  acquaintance,  with  a  large  stone 
pitcher  for  me  to  fill.  May  she  draw  a  husband,  while 
drawing  her  water,  as  Rachel  did  of  old.  Hold  out  your 
vessel,  my  dear  !  There  it  is,  full  to  the  brim  ;  so  now 
run  home,  peeping  at  your  sweet  image  in  the  pitcher,  as 
you  go ;  and  forget  not,  in  a  glass  of  my  own  liquor,  to 
drink —  "  SUCCESS  TO  THE  TOWN  PUMP  ! " 


THE  GREAT  CARBUNCLE.* 

A  MYSTERY  OF  THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS. 

|T  nightfall,  once,  in  the  olden  time,  on  the  rugged 
side  of  one  of  the  Crystal  Hills,  a  party  of  ad- 
venturers were  refreshing  themselves,  after  a 
toilsome  and  fruitless  quest  for  the  Great  Carbuncle. 
They  had  come  thither,  not  as  friends,  nor  partners  in  the 
enterprise,  but  each,  save  one  youthful  pair,  impelled  by 
his  own  selfish  and  solitary  longing  for  this  wondrous 
gem.  Their  feeling  of  brotherhood,  however,  was  strong 
enough  to  induce  them  to  contribute  a  mutual  aid  in 
building  a  rude  hut  of  branches,  and  kindling  a  great 
fire  of  shattered  pines,  that  had  drifted  down  the  headlong 
current  of  the  Amonoosuck,  on  the  lower  bank  of  which 
they  were  to  pass  the  night.  There  was  but  one  of  their 
number,  perhaps,  who  had  become  so  estranged  from 
natural  sympathies,  by  the  absorbing  spell  of  the  pursuit, 
as  to  acknowledge  no  satisfaction  at  the  sight  of  human 

*  The  Indian  tradition,  on  which  this  somewhat  extravagant 
tale  is  founded,  is  both  too  wild  and  too  beautiful  to  be  ade- 
quately wrought  up  in  prose.  Sullivan,  in  his  History  of 
Maine,  written  since  the  Revolution,  remarks,  that  even  then, 
the  existence  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  was  not  entirely  dis- 
credited. 


THE    GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  163 

faces,  in  the  remote  and  solitary  region  whither  they  had 
ascended.  A  vast  extent  of  wilderness  lay  between  them 
and  the  nearest  settlement,  while  scant  a  mile  above 
their  heads,  was  that  black  verge,  where  the  hills  throw 
off  their  shaggy  mantle  of  forest  trees,  and  either  robe 
themselves  in  clouds,  or  tower  naked  into  the  sky.  The 
roar  of  the  Amonoosuck  would  have  been  too  awful  for 
endurance,  if  only  a  solitary  man  had  listened,  while  the 
mountain  stream  talked  with  the  wind. 

The  adventurers,  therefore,  exchanged  hospitable  greet- 
ings, and  welcomed  one  another  to  the  hut,  where  each 
man  was  the  host,  and  all  were  the  guests  of  the  whole 
company.  They  spread  their  individual  supplies  of  food 
on  the  flat  surface  of  a  rock,  and  partook  of  a  general 
repast ;  at  the  close  of  which,  a  sentiment  of  good-fellow- 
ship was  perceptible  among  the  party,  though  repressed 
by  the  idea,  that  the  renewed  search  for  the  Great  Car- 
buncle must  make  them  strangers  again,  in  the  morning. 
Seven  men  and  one  young  woman,  they  warmed  them- 
selves together  at  the  fire,  which  extended  its  bright  wall 
along  the  whole  front  of  their  wigwam.  As  they  ob- 
served the  various  and  contrasted  figures  that  made  up 
the  assemblage,  each  man  looking  like  a  caricature  of 
himself,  in  the  unsteady  light  that  flickered  over  him, 
they  came  mutually  to  the  conclusion,  that  an  odder 
society  had  never  met,  in  city  or  wilderness,  on  mountain 
or  plain. 

The  eldest  of  the  group,  a  tall,  lean,  weather-beaten 
man,  some  sixty  years  of  age,  was  clad  in  the  skins 
of  wild  animals,  whose  fashion  of  dress  he  did  well 
to  imitate,  since  the  deer,  the  wolf,  and  the  bear  had 
long  been  his  most  intimate  companions.  He  was  one 
of  those  ill-fated  mortals,  such  as  the  Indians  told  of, 
whom,  in  their  early  youth,  the  Great  Carbuncle  smote 


164  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

•with  a  peculiar  madness,  and  became  the  passionate 
dream  of  their  existence.  All,  who  visited  that  region, 
knew  him  as  the  Seeker,  and  by  no  other  name.  As 
none  could  remember  when  he  first  took  up  the  search, 
there  went  a  fable  in  the  valley  of  the  Saco,  that  for  his 
inordinate  lust  after  the  Great  Carbuncle,  he  had  been 
condemned  to  wander  among  the  mountains  till  the  end 
of  time,  still  with  tbe  same  feverish  hopes  at  sunrise, 
the  same  despair  at  eve.  Near  this  miserable  Seeker  sat 
a  little  elderly  personage,  wearing  a  high-crowned  hat, 
shaped  somewhat  like  a  crucible.  He  was  from  beyond 
the  sea,  a  Dr.  Cacaphodel,  who  had  wilted  and  dried 
himself  into  a  mummy,  by  continually  stooping  over 
charcoal  furnaces  and  inhaling  unwholesome  fumes,  dur- 
ing his  researches  in  chemistry  and  alchemy.  It  was  told 
of  him,  whether  truly  or  not,  that,  at  the  commencement 
of  his  studies,  he  had  drained  his  body  of  all  its  richest 
blood,  and  wasted  it,  with  other  inestimable  ingredients, 
in  an  unsuccessful  experiment,  —  and  had  never  been  a 
well  man  since.  Another  of  the  adventurers  was  Master 
Ichabod  Pigsnort,  a  weighty  merchant  and  selectman  of 
Boston,  and  an  elder  of  the  famous  Mr.  Norton's  church. 
His  enemies  had  a  ridiculous  story,  that,  Master  Pigsnort 
was  accustomed  to  spend  a  whole  hour  after  prayer-time, 
every  morning  and  evening,  in  wallowing  naked  among 
an  immense  quantity  of  pine-tree  shillings,  which  were 
the  earliest  silver  coinage  of  Massachusetts.  The  fourth, 
whom  we  shall  notice,  had  no  name,  that  his  companions 
knew  of,  and  was  chiefly  distinguished  by  a  sneer  that 
always  contorted  his  thin  visage,  and  by  a  prodigious 
pair  of  spectacles,  which  were  supposed  to  deform  and 
discolor  the  whole  face  of  nature,  to  this  gentleman's 
perception.  The  fifth  adventurer  likewise  lacked  a  name, 
which  was  the  greater  pity,  as  he  appeared  to  be  a  poet. 


THE    GEEAT    CARBUNCLE.  165 

He  was  a  bright-eyed  man,  but  wofully  pined  away, 
which  was  no  more  than  natural,  if,  as  some  people  af- 
firmed, his  ordinary  diet  was  fog,  morning  mist,  and  a 
slice  of  the  densest  cloud  within  his  reach,  sauced  with 
moonshine  whenever  he  could  get  it.  Certain  it  is, 
that  the  poetry  which  flowed  from  him  had  a  smack  of 
all  these  dainties.  The  sixth  of  the  party  was  a  young 
man  of  haughty  mien,  and  sat  somewhat  apart  from  the 
rest,  wearing  his  plumed  hat  loftily  among  his  elders, 
while  the  fire  glittered  on  the  rich  embroidery  of  his 
dress,  and  gleamed  intensely  on  the  jewelled  pommel 
of  his  sword.  This  was  the  Lord  de  Vere,  who,  when 
at  home,  was  said  to  spend  much  of  his  time  in  the  burial- 
vault  of  his  dead  progenitors,  rummaging  their  mouldy 
coffins  in  search  of  all  the  earthly  pride  and  vainglory 
that  was  hidden  among  bones  and  dust ;  so  that,  besides 
his  own  share,  he  had  the  collected  haughtiness  of  his 
whole  line  of  ancestry. 

Lastly,  there  was  a  handsome  youth  in  rustic  garb, 
and  by  his  side  a  blooming  little  person,  in  whom  a 
delicate  shade  of  maiden  reserve  was  just  melting  into 
the  rich  glow  of  a  young  wife's  affection.  Her  name 
was  Hannah,  and  her  husband's  Matthew ;  two  homely 
names,  yet  well  enough  adapted  to  the  simple  pair,  who 
seemed  strangely  out  of  place  among  the  whimsical 
fraternity  whose  wits  had  been  set  agog  by  the  Great 
Carbuncle. 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  one  hut,  in  the  bright  blaze  of 
the  same  fire,  sat  this  varied  group  of  adventurers,  all  so 
intent  upon  a  single  object,  that,  of  whatever  else  they 
began  to  speak,  their  closing  words  were  sure  to  be  illu- 
minated with  the  Great  Carbuncle.  Several  related  the 
circumstances  that  brought  them  thither.  One  had  lis- 
tened to  a  traveller's  tale  of  this  marvellous  stone,  in  his 


166  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

own  distant  country,  and  had  immediately  been  seized 
with  such  a  thirst  for  beholding  it,  as  could  only  be 
quenched  in  its  intensest  lustre.  Another,  so  long  ago 
as  when  the  famous  Captain  Smith  visited  these  coasts, 
had  seen  it  blazing  far  at  sea,  and  had  felt  no  rest  in  all 
the  intervening  years,  till  now  that  he  took  up  the  search. 
A  third,  being  encamped  on  a  hunting  expedition,  full 
forty  miles  south  of  the  White  Mountains,  awoke  at  mid- 
night, and  beheld  the  Great  Carbuncle  gleaming  like  a 
meteor,  so  that  the  shadows  of  the  trees  fell  backward 
from  it.  They  spoke  of  the  innumerable  attempts,  which 
had  been  made  to  reach  the  spot,  and  of  the  singular 
fatality  which  had  hitherto  withheld  success  from  all 
adventurers,  though  it  might  seem  so  easy  to  follow  to 
its  source  a  light  that  overpowered  the  moon,  and  almost 
matched  the  sun.  It  was  observable  that  each  smiled 
scornfully  at  the  madness  of  every  other,  in  anticipating 
better  fortune  than  the  past,  yet  nourished  a  scarcely 
hidden  conviction,  that  he  would  himself  be  the  favored 
one.  As  if  to  allay  their  too  sanguine  hopes,  they  re- 
curred to  the  Indian  traditions,  that  a  spirit  kept  watch 
about  the  gem,  and  bewildered  those  who  sought  it, 
either  by  removing  it  from  peak  to  peak  of  the  higher 
hills,  or  by  calling  up  a  mist  from  the  enchanted  lake 
over  which  it  hung.  But  these  tales  were  deemed  un- 
worthy of  credit ;  all  professing  to  believe,  that  the  search 
had  been  baffled  by  want  of  sagacity  or  perseverance  in 
the  adventurers,  or,  such  other  causes  as  might  naturally 
obstruct  the  passage  to  any  given  point,  among  the  in- 
tricacies of  forest,  valley,  and  mountain. 

In  a  pause  of  the  conversation,  the  wearer  of  the  pro- 
digious spectacles  looked  round  upon  the  party,  making 
each  individual,  in  turn,  the  object  of  the  sneer  which  in- 
variably dwelt  upon  his  countenance. 


THE    GREAT    CARBUNCLE.  167 

"  So,  fellow-pilgrims,"  skid  he,  "  here  we  are,  seven, 
wise  men  and  one  fair  damsel,  —  who,  doubtless,  is  as 
wise  as  any  graybeard  of  the  company :  -here  we  are,  I 
say,  all  bound  on  the  same  goodly  enterprise.  Methinks, 
now,  it  were  not  amiss,  that  each  of  us  declare  what  he 
proposes  to  do  with  the  Great  Carbuncle,  provided  he 
have  the  good  hap  to  clutch  it.  What  says  our  friend 
in  the  bear-skin  ?  How  mean  you,  good  sir,  to  enjoy 
the  prize  which  you  have  been  seeking,  the  Lord  knows 
how  long,  among  the  Crystal  Hills  ?  " 

"  How  enjoy  it !  "  exclaimed  the  aged  Seeker,  bitterly. 
"  I  hope  for  no  enjoyment  from  it,  —  that  folly  has  passed 
long  ago  !  I  keep  up  the  search  for  this  accursed  stone, 
because  the  vain  ambition  of  my  youth  has  become  a  fate 
upon  me,  in  old  age.  The  pursuit  alone  is  my  strength, 
—  the  energy  of  my  soul,  —  the  warmth  of  my  blood,  and 
the  pith  and  marrow  of  my  bones  !  Were  I  to  turn  my 
back  upon  it,  I  should  fall  down  dead,  on  the  hither  side 
of  the  Notch,  which  is  the  gateway  of  this  mountain 
region.  Yet,  not  to  have  my  wasted  lifetime  back  again, 
would  I  give  up  my  hopes  of  the  Great  Carbuncle ! 
Having  found  it,  I  shall  bear  it  to  a  certain  cavern  that 
I  wot  of,  and  there,  grasping  it  in  my  arms,  lie  down 
and  die,  and  keep  it  buried  with  me  forever." 

"  O  wretch,  regardless  of  the  interests  of  science ! J> 
cried  Dr.  Cacaphodel,  with  philosophic  indignation. 
"  Thou  art  not  worthy  to  behold,  even  from  afar  off,  the 
lustre  of  this  most  precious  gem  that  ever  was  concocted 
in  the  laboratory  of  Nature.  Mine  is  the  sole  purpose 
for  which  a  wise  man  may  desire  the  possession  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle.  Immediately  on  obtaining  it  —  for  I 
have  a  presentiment,  good  people,  that  the  prize  is  re- 
served to  crown  my  scientific  reputation  —  I  shall  return 
to  Europe,  and  employ  my  remaining  years  in  reducing 


168  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

it  to  its  first  elements.  A  portion  of  the  stone  will  I 
grind  to  impalpable  powder;  other  parts  shall  be  dis- 
solved in  acids,  or  whatever  solvents  will  act  upon  so 
admirable  a  composition ;  and  the  remainder  I  design  to 
melt  in  the  crucible,  or  set  on  fire  with  the  blowpipe. 
By  these  various  methods,  I  shall  gain  an  accurate  analy- 
sis, and  finally  bestow  the  result  of  my  labors  upon  the 
world,  in  a  folio  volume." 

"  Excellent !  "  quoth  the  man  with  the  spectacles.  "  Nor 
need  you  hesitate,  learned  sir,  on  account  of  the  necessary 
destruction  of  the  gem ;  since  the  perusal  of  your  folio 
may  teach  every  mother's  son  of  us  to  concoct  a  Great 
Carbuncle  of  his  own." 

"But,  verily,"  said  Master  Ichabod  Pigsnort,  "for 
mine  own  part  I  object  to  the  making  of  these  counter- 
feits, as  being  calculated  to  reduce  the  marketable  value 
of  the  true  gem.  I  tell  ye  frankly,  sirs,  I  have  an  interest 
in  keeping  up  the  price.  Here  have  I  quitted  my  regular 
traffic,  leaving  niy  warehouse  in  the  care  of  my  clerks, 
and  putting  my  credit  to  great  hazard,  and,  furthermore, 
have  put  myself  in  peril  of  death  or  captivity  by  the 
accursed  heathen  savages,  —  and  all  this  without  daring 
to  ask  the  prayers  of  the  congregation,  because  the  quest 
for  the  Great  Carbuncle  is  deemed  little  better  than  a 
traffic  with  the  Evil  One.  Now  think  ye  that  I  would 
have  done  this  grievous  wrong  to  my  soul,  body,  reputa- 
tion, and  estate,  without  a  reasonable  chance  of  profit  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  pious  Master  Pigsnort,"  said  the  man  with 
the  spectacles.  "  I  never  laid  such  a  great  folly  to  thy 
charge." 

"Truly,  I  hope  not,"  said  the  merchant.  "Now,  as 
touching  this  Great  Carbuncle,  I  am  free  to  own  that  I 
have  never  had  a  glimpse  of  it ;  but  be  it  only  the  hun- 
dredth part  so  bright  as  people  tell,  it  will  surely  outvalue 


THE    GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  169 

the  Great  Mogul's  best  diamond,  which  he  holds  at  an 
incalculable  sura.  Wherefore  I  am  minded  to  put  the 
Great  Carbuncle  on  shipboard,  and  voyage  with  it  to 
England,  Prance,  Spain,  Italy,  or  into  Heathendom,  if 
Providence  should  send  me  thither,  and,  in  a  word,  dis- 
pose of  the  gem  to  the  best  bidder  among  the  potentates 
of  the  earth,  that  he  may  place  it  among  his  crown  jew- 
els. If  any  of  ye  have  a  wiser  plan,  let  him  expound  it." 

"  That  have  I,  thou  sordid  man  !  "  exclaimed  the  poet. 
"Dost  thou  desire  nothing  brighter  than  gold,  that  thou 
wouldst  transmute  all  this  ethereal  lustre  into  such  dross, 
as  thou  wallowest  in  already  ?  For  myself,  hiding  the 
jewel  under  my  cloak,  I  shall  hie  me  back  to  my  attic 
chamber,  in  one  of  the  darksome  alleys  of  London. 
There,  night  and  day,  will  I  gaze  upon  it,  —  my  soul 
shall  drink  its  radiance,  —  it  shall  be  diffused  throughout 
my  intellectual  powers,  and  gleam  brightly  in  every  line 
of  poesy  that  I  indite.  Thus,  long  ages  after  I  am  gone, 
the  splendor  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  will  blaze  around 
my  name ! " 

"  Well  said,  Master  Poet !  "  cried  he  of  the  spectacles. 
"  Hide  it  under  thy  cloak,  sayest  thou  ?  Why,  it  will 
gleam  through  the  holes,  and  make  thee  look  like  a 
jack-o'-lantern ! " 

"  To  think  ! "  ejaculated  the  Lord  de  Vere,  rather 
to  himself  than  his  companions,  the  best  of  whom  he 
held  utterly  unworthy  of  his  intercourse,  —  "  to  think 
that  a  fellow  in  a  tattered  cloak  should  talk  of  conveying 
the  Great  Carbuncle  to  a  garret  in  Grub  Street !  Have 
not  I  resolved  within  myself,  that  the  whole  earth  con- 
tains  no  fitter  ornament  for  the  great  hall  of  my  ances- 
tral castle  ?  There  shall  it  flame  for  ages,  making  a 
noonday  of  midnight,  glittering  on  the  suits  of  armor, 
the  banners,  and  escutcheons,  that  hang  around  the 


170  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

wall,  and  keeping  bright  the  memory  of  heroes.  Where- 
fore have  all  other  adventurers  sought  the  prize  in  vain, 
but  that  I  might  win  it,  and  make  it  a  symbol  of  the 
glories  of  our  lofty  line  ?  And  never,  on  the  diadem  of 
the  White  Mountains,  did  the  Great  Carbuncle  hold  a 
place  half  so  honored  as  is  reserved  for  it  in  the  hall  of 
the  De  Veres  !  " 

"  It  is  a  noble  thought,"  said  the  Cynic,  with  an  ob- 
sequious sneer.  "  Yet,  might  I  presume  to  say  so,  the 
gem  would  make  a  rare  sepulchral  lamp,  and  would  dis- 
play the  glories  of  your  lordship's  progenitors  more 
truly  in  the  ancestral  vault  than  in  the  castle  hall." 

"  Nay,  forsooth,"  observed  Matthew,  the  young  rustic, 
who  sat  hand  in  hand  with  his  bride,  "  the  gentleman 
has  bethought  himself  of  a  profitable  use  for  this  bright 
stone.  Hannah  here  and  I  are  seeking  it  for  a  like 
purpose." 

"  How,  fellow ! "  exclaimed  his  lordship,  in  surprise. 
"  What  castle  hall  hast  thou  to  hang  it  in  ? " 

"  No  castle,"  replied  Matthew,  "  but  as  neat  a  cottage 
as  any  within  sight  of  the  Crystal  Hills.  Ye  must  know, 
friends,  that  Hannah  and  I,  being  wedded  the  last  week, 
have  taken  up  the  search  of  the  Great  Carbuncle,  be- 
cause we  shall  need  its  light  in  the  long  winter  evenings ; 
and  it  will  be  such  a  pretty  thing  to  show  the  neighbors 
when  they  visit  us.  It  will  shine  through  the  house,  so 
that  we  may  pick  up  a  pin  in  any  corner,  and  will  set  all 
the  windows  a-glowing,  as  if  there  were  a  great  fire  of 
pine  knots  in  the  chimney.  And  then  how  pleasant, 
when  we  awake  in  the  night,  to  be  able  to  see  one 
another's  faces ! " 

There  was  a  general  smile  among  the  adventurers  at 
the  simplicity  of  the  young  couple's  project,  in  regard 
to  this  wondrous  and  invaluable  stone,  with  which  the 


THE    GREAT    CARBUNCLE.  171 

greatest  monarch  on  earth  might  have  been  proud  to 
adorn  his  palace.  Especially  the  man  with  spectacles, 
who  had  sneered  at  all  the  company  in  turn,  now  twisted 
his  visage  into  such  an  expression  of  ill-natured  mirth, 
that  Matthew  asked  him,  rather  peevishly,  what  he  him- 
self meant  to  do  with  the  Great  Carbuncle. 

"The  Great  Carbuncle!"  answered  the  Cynic,  with 
ineffable  scorn.  "  Why,  you  blockhead,  there  is  no  such 
tiling,  in  rerun  natura.  I  have  come  three  thousand 
miles,  and  am  resolved  to  set  my  foot  on  every  peak  of 
these  mountains,  and  poke  my  head  into  every  chasm, 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  demonstrating  to  the  satisfaction 
of  any  man,  one  whit  less  an  ass  than  thyself,  that  the 
Great  Carbuncle  is  all  a  humbug ! " 

Vain  and  foolish  were  the  motives  that  had  brought 
most  of  the  adventurers  to  the  Crystal  Hills,  but  none 
so  vain,  so  foolish,  and  so  impious  too,  as  that  of  the 
scoffer  with  the  prodigious  spectacles.  He  was  one  of 
those  wretched  and  evil  men,  whose  yearnings  are  down- 
ward to  the  darkness,  instead  of  heavenward,  and  who, 
could  they  but  extinguish  the  lights  which  God  hath 
kindled  for  us,  would  count  the  midnight  gloom  their 
chiefest  glory.  As  the  Cynic  spoke,  several  of  the  party 
were  startled  by  a  gleam  of  red  splendor,  that  showed 
the  huge  shapes  of  the  surrounding  mountains,  and  the 
rock-bestrewn  bed  of  the  turbulent  river,  with  an  illumi- 
nation unlike  that  of  their  fire,  on  the  trunks  and  black 
boughs  of  the  forest  trees.  They  listened  for  the  roll  of 
thunder,  but  heard  nothing,  and  were  glad  that  the  tem- 
pest came  not  near  them.  The  stars,  those  dial  points 
of  heaven,  now  warned  the  adventurers  to  close  their 
eyes  on  the  blazing  logs,  and  open  them,  in  dreams,  to 
the  glow  of  the  Great  Carbuncle. 

The  young  married  couple  had  taken  their  lodgings  in 


172  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  farthest  corner  of  the  wigwam,  and  were  separated 
from  the  rest  of  the  party  by  a  curtaiu  of  curiously 
woven  twigs,  such  as  might  have  hung,  in  deep  festoons, 
around  the  bridal  bower  of  Eve.  The  modest  little  wife 
had  wrought  this  piece  of  tapestry,  while  the  other 
guests  were  talking.  She  and  her  husband  fell  asleep 
with  hands  tenderly  clasped,  and  awoke,  from  visions  of 
unearthly  radiance,  to  meet  the  more  blessed  light  of  one 
another's  eyes.  They  awoke  at  the  same  instant,  and 
with  one  happy  smile  beaming  over  their  two  faces, 
which  grew  brighter  with  their  consciousness  of  the  re- 
ality of  life  and  love.  But  no  sooner  did  she  recollect 
where  they  were,  than  the  bride  peeped  through  the  in- 
terstices of  the  leafy  curtain,  and  saw  that  the  outer 
room  of  the  hut  was  deserted. 

"  Up,  dear  Matthew  !  "  cried  she  in  haste.  "  The 
strange  folk  are  all  gone  !  Up,  this  very  minute,  or  we 
shall  lose  the  Great  Carbuncle  !  " 

In  truth,  so  little  did  these  poor  young  people  deserve 
the  mighty  prize  which  had  lured  them  thither,  that  they 
had  slept  peacefully  all  night,  and  till  the  summits  of  the 
hills  were  glittering  with  sunshine  ;  while  the  other  ad- 
venturers had  tossed  their  limbs  in  feverish  wakefuluess, 
or  dreamed  of  climbing  precipices,  and  set  off  to  realize 
their  dreams  with  the  earh'est  peep  of  dawn.  But  Mat- 
thew and  Hannah,  after  their  calm  rest,  were  as  light  as 
two  young  deer,  and  merely  stopped  to  say  their  prayers, 
and  wash  themselves  in  a  cold  pool  of  the  Amonoosuck, 
and  then  to  taste  a  morsel  of  food,  ere  they  turned  their 
faces  to  the  mountain-side.  It  was  a  sweet  emblem  of 
conjugal  affection,  as  they  toiled  up  the  difficult  ascent, 
gathering  strength  from  the  mutual  aid  which  they  af- 
forded. After  several  little  accidents,  such  as  a  torn 
robe,  a  lost  shoe,  and  the  entanglement  of  Hannah's  hair 


THE    GREAT    CARBUNCLE.  173 

in  a  bough,  they  reached  the  upper  verge  of  the  forest, 
and  were  now  to  pursue  a  more  adventurous  course. 
The  innumerable  trunks  and  heavy  foliage  of  the  trees 
had  hitherto  shut  in  their  thoughts,  which  now  shrank 
'  affrighted  from  the  region  of  wind,  and  cloud,  and  naked 
rocks,  and  desolate  sunshine,  that  rose  immeasurably 
above  them.  They  gazed  back  at  the  obscure  wilderness 
which  they  had  traversed,  and  longed  to  be  buried  again 
in  its  depths,  rather  than  trust  themselves  to  so  vast  and 
visible  a  solitude. 

"  Shall  we  go  on  ?  "  said  Matthew,  throwing  his  arm 
round  Hannah's  waist,  both  to  protect  her,  and  to  com- 
fort his  heart  by  drawing  her  close  to  it. 

But  the  little  bride,  simple  as  she  was,  had  a  woman's 
love  of  jewels,  and  could  not  forego  the  hope  of  possess- 
ing the  very  brightest  in  the  world,  in  spite  of  the  perils 
with  which  it  must  be  won. 

"  Let  us  climb  a  little  higher,"  whispered  she,  yet 
tremulously,  as  she  turned  her  face  upward  to  the 
lonely  sky. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Matthew,  mustering  his  manly 
courage,  and  drawing  her  along  with  him;  for  she  be- 
came timid  again,  the  moment  that  be  grew  bold. 

And  upward,  accordingly,  went  the  pilgrims  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle,  now  treading  upon  the  tops  and 
thickly  interwoven  branches  of  dwarf  pines,  which,  by 
the  growth  of  centuries,  though  mossy  with  age,  had 
barely  reached  three  feet  in  altitude.  Next,  they  came 
to  masses  and  fragments  of  naked  rock,  heaped  con- 
fusedly together,  like  a  cairn  reared  by  giants,  in  mem- 
ory of  a  giant  chief.  In  this  bleak  realm  of  upper  air, 
nothing  breathed,  nothing  grew ;  there  was  no  life  but 
what  was  concentrated  in  their  two  hearts ;  they  had 
climbed  so  high,  that  Nature  herself  seemed  no  longer 


174  TVVICE-TOLD   TALES. 

to  keep  them  company.  She  lingered  beneath  them, 
•within  the  verge  of  the  forest  trees,  and  sent  a  farewell 
glance  after  her  children,  as  they  strayed  where  her  own 
green  footprints  had  never  been.  But  soon  they  were 
to  be  hidden  from  her  eye.  Densely  and  dark,  the  mists 
began  to  gather  below,  casting  black  spots  of  shadow 
on  the  vast  landscape,  and  sailing  heavily  to  one  centre, 
as  if  the  loftiest  mountain  peak  had  summoned  a  council 
of  its  kindred  clouds.  Finally,  the  vapors  welded  them- 
selves, as  it  were,  into  a  mass,  presenting  the  appearance 
of  a  pavement  over  which  the  wanderers  might  have 
trodden,  but  where  they  would  vainly  ?  have  sought  an 
avenue  to  the  blessed  earth  which  they  had  lost.  And 
the  lovers  yearned  to  behold  that  green  earth  again, 
more  intensely,  alas !  than,  beneath  a  clouded  sky,  they 
had  ever  desired  a  glimpse  of  heaven.  They  even  felt 
it  a  relief  to  their  desolation,  when  the  mists,  creeping 
gradually  up  the  mountain,  concealed  its  lonely  peak,  and 
thus  annihilated,  at  least  for  them,  the  whole  region  of 
visible  space.  But  they  drew  closer  together,  with  a 
fond  and  melancholy  gaze,  dreading  lest  the  universal 
cloud  should  snatch  them  from  each  other's  sight. 

Still,  perhaps,  they  would  have  been  resolute  to  climb 
as  far  and  as  high,  between  earth  and  heaven,  as  they 
could  find  foothold,  if  Hannah's  strength  had  not  begun 
to  fail,  and  with  that,  her  courage  also.  Her  breath 
grew  short.  She  refused  to  burden  her  husband  with 
her  weight,  but  often  tottered  against  his  side,  and  re- 
covered herself  each  time  by  a  feebler  effort.  At  last, 
she  sank  down  on  one  of  the  rocky  steps  of  the  acclivity. 

"We  are  lost,  dear  Matthew,"  said  she,  mournfully. 
"  We  shall  never  find  our  way  to  the  earth  again.  And 
O,  how  happy  we  might  have  been  in  our  cottage  !  " 

"  Dear  heart !  —  we  will  yet  be  happy  there,"  answered 


THE    GREAT    CARBUNCLE.  175 

Matthew.  "  Look  !  In  this  direction,  the  sunshine  pene- 
trates the  dismal  mist.  By  its  aid,  I  can  direct  our 
course  to  the  passage  of  the  Notch.  Let  us  go  back, 
love,  and  dream  no  more  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  !  " 

"The  sun  cannot  be  yonder,"  said  Hannah,  with  de- 
spondence. "  By  this  time,  it  -must  be  noon.  If  there 
could  ever  be  any  sunshine  here,  it  would  come  from 
above  our  heads." 

"  But  look  !  "  repeated  Matthew,  in  a  somewhat  altered 
tone.  "  It  is  brightening  every  moment.  If  not  sunshine, 
what  can  it  be  ?  " 

Nor  could  the  young  bride  any  longer  deny,  that  a 
radiance  was  breaking  through  the  mist,  and  changing 
its  dim  hue  to  a  dusky  red,  which  continually  grew  more 
vivid,  as  if  brilliant  particles  were  interfused  with  the 
gloom.  Now,  also,  the  cloud  began  to  roll  away  from 
the  mountain,  while,  as  it  heavily  withdrew,  one  object 
after  another  started  out  of  its  impenetrable  obscurity 
into  sight,  with  precisely  the  effect  of  a  new  creation, 
before  the  indistinctness  of  the  old  chaos  had  been  com- 
pletely swallowed  up.  As  the  process  went  on,  they 
saw  the  gleaming  of  water  close  at  their  feet,  and  found 
themselves  on  the  very  border  of  a  mountain  lake,  deep, 
bright,  clear,  and  calmly  beautiful,  spreading  from  brim 
to  brim  of  a  basin  that  had  been  scooped  out  of  the  solid 
rock.  A  ray  of  glory  flashed  across  its  surface.  The 
pilgrims  looked  whence  it  should  proceed,  but  closed 
their  eyes  with  a  thrill  of  awful  admiration,  to  exclude 
the  fervid  splendor  that  glowed  from  the  brow  of  a  cliff, 
impending  over  the  enchanted  lake.  For  the  simple  pair 
had  reached  that  lake  of  mystery,  and  found  the  long- 
sought  shrine  of  the  Great  Carbuncle ! 

They  threw  their  arms  around  each  other,  and  trem- 
bled at  their  own  success;  for  as  the  legends  of  this 


176  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

wondrous  gem  rushed  thick  upon  their  memory,  they 
felt  themselves  marked  out  by  fate,  —  and  the  conscious- 
ness was  fearful.  Often,  from  childhood  upward,  they 
had  seen  it  shining  like  a  distant  star.  And  now  that 
star  was  throwing  its  intensest  lustre  on  their  hearts. 
They  seemed  changed  to  one  another's  eyes,  in  the  red 
brilliancy  that  flamed  upon  their  cheeks,  while  it  lent 
the  same  fire  to  the  lake,  the  rocks,  and  sky,  and  to  the 
mists  which  had  rolled  back  before  its  power.  But,  with 
their  next  glance,  they  beheld  an  object  that  drew  their 
attention  even  from  the  mighty  stone.  At  the  base  of 
the  cliff,  directly  beneath  the  Great  Carbuncle,  appeared 
the  figure  of  a  man,  with  his  arms  extended  in  the  act 
of  climbing,  and  his  face  turned  upward,  as  if  to  drink 
the  full  gush  of  splendor.  But  he  stirred  not,  no  more 
than  if  changed  to  marble. 

"It  is  the  Seeker,"  whispered  Hannah,  convulsively 
grasping  her  husband's  arm.  "Matthew,  he  is  dead." 

"  The  joy  of  success  has  killed  him,"  replied  Matthew, 
trembling  violently.  "  Or,  perhaps  the  very  light  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle  was  death  !  " 

"The  Great  Carbuncle,"  cried  a  peevish  voice  behind 
them.  "  The  Great  Humbug !  If  you  have  found  it, 
prithee  point  it  out  to  me." 

They  turned  their  heads,  and  there  was  the  Cynic, 
with  his  prodigious  spectacles  set  carefully  on  his  nose, 
staring  now  at  the  lake,  now  at  the  rocks,  now  at  the 
distant  masses  of  vapor,  now  right  at  the  Great  Carbuncle 
itself,  yet  seemingly  as  unconscious  of  its  light,  as  if  all 
the  scattered  clouds  were  condensed  about  his  person. 
Though  its  radiance  actually  threw  the  shadow  of  the 
unbeliever  at  his  own  feet,  as  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  glorious  jewel,  he  would  not  be  convinced  that  there 
was  the  least  glimmer  there. 


THE    GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  177 

"Where  is  your  Great  Humbug?"  he  repeated.  "I 
challenge  you  to  make  me  see  it ! " 

"There,"  said  Matthew,  incensed  at  such  perverse 
blindness,  and  turning  the  Cynic  round  towards  the 
illuminated  cliff.  "  Take  off  those  abominable  spectacles, 
and  you  cannot  help  seeing  it !  " 

Now  these  colored  spectacles  probably  darkened  the 
Cynic's  sight,  in  at  least  as  great  a  degree  as  the  smoked 
glasses  through  which  people  gaze  at  an  eclipse.  With 
resolute  bravado,  however,  he  snatched  them  from  his 
nose,  and  fixed  a  bold  stare  full  upon  the  ruddy  blaze  of 
the  Great  Carbuncle.  But  scarcely  had  he  encountered 
it,  when,  with  a  deep,  shuddering  groan,  he  dropped  his 
head,  and  pressed  both  hands  across  his  miserable  eyes. 
Thenceforth  there  was,  in  very  truth,  no  light  of  the 
Great  Carbuncle,  nor  any  other  light  on  earth,  nor  light 
of  Heaven  itself,  for  the  poor  Cynic.  So  long  accus- 
tomed to  view  all  objects  through  a  medium  that  deprived 
them  of  every  glimpse  of  brightness,  a  single  flash  of  so 
glorious  a  phenomenon,  striking  upon  his  naked  vision, 
had  blinded  him  forever. 

"  Matthew,"  said  Hannah,  clinging  to  him,  "  let  us  go 
hence ! " 

Matthew  saw  that  she  was  faint,  and,  kneeling  down, 
supported  her  in  his  arms,  while  he  threw  some  of  the 
thrillingly  cold  water  of  the  enchanted  lake  upon  her  face 
and  bosom.  It  revived  her,  but  could  not  renovate  her 
courage. 

"  Yes,  dearest !  "  cried  Matthew,  pressing  her  tremu- 
lous form  to  his  breast,  "  we  will  go  hence,  and  return 
to  our  humble  cottage.  The  blessed  sunshine  and  the 
quiet  moonlight  shall  come  through  our  window.  We 
will  kindle  the  cheerful  glow  of  our  hearth  at  eventide, 
and  be  happy  in  its  light.  But  never  again  will  we 
8*  L 


178  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

desire  more  light  than  all  the  world  may  share  with 
us." 

"  No,"  said  his  bride,  "  for  how  could  we  live  by  day, 
or  sleep  by  night,  in  this  awful  blaze  of  the  Great  Car- 
buncle ?  " 

Out  of  the  hollow  of  their  hands,  they  drank  each  a 
draught  from  the  lake,  which  presented  them  its  waters 
uncontaminated  by  an  earthly  lip.  Then,  lending  their 
guidance  to  the  blinded  Cynic,  who  uttered  not  a  word, 
and  even  stifled  his  groans  in  his  own  most  wretched 
heart,  they  began  to  descend  the  mountain.  Yet,  as  they 
left  the  shore,  till  then  untrodden,  of  the  spirit's  lake, 
they  threw  a  farewell  glance  towards  the  cliff,  and  beheld 
the  vapors  gathering  in  dense  volumes,  through  which 
the  gem  burned  duskily. 

As  touching  the  other  pilgrims  of  the  Great  Carbuncle, 
the  legend  goes  on  to  tell,  that  the  worshipful  Master 
Ichabod  Pigsnort  soon  gave  up  the  quest,  as  a  desperate 
speculation,  and  wisely  resolved  to  betake  himself  again 
to  his  warehouse,  near  the  town  dock,  in  Boston.  But, 
as  he  passed  through  the  Notch  of  the  mountains,  a  war 
party  of  Indians  captured  our  unlucky  merchant,  and 
carried  him  to  Montreal,  there  holding  him  in  bondage, 
till,  by  the  payment  of  a  heavy  ransom,  he  had  wofully 
subtracted  from  his  hoard  of  pine-tree  shillings.  By  his 
long  absence,  moreover,  his  affairs  had  become  so  dis- 
ordered, that,  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  instead  of  wallowing 
in  silver,  he  had  seldom  a  sixpence  worth  of  copper. 
Dr.  Cacaphodel,  the  alchemist,  returned  to  his  labo- 
ratory with  a  prodigious  fragment  of  granite,  which  he 
ground  to  powder,  dissolved  in  acids,  melted  in  the  cru- 
cible, and  bunied  with  the  blowpipe,  and  published  the 
result  of  his  experiments  in  one  of  the  heaviest  folios  of 
the  day.  And,  for  all  these  purposes,  tbe  gem  itself 


THE    GREAT   CARBUNCLE.  179 

could  not  have  answered  better  than  the  granite.  The 
poet,  by  a  somewhat  similar  mistake,  made  prize  of  a 
great  piece  of  ice,  which  he  found  in  a  sunless  chasm  of 
the  mountains,  and  swore  that  it  corresponded,  in  all 
points,  with  his  idea  of  the  Great  Carbuncle.  The  critics 
say,  that,  if  his  poetry  lacked  the  splendor  of  the  gem,  it 
retained  all  the  coldness  of  the  ice.  The  Lord  de  Vere 
went  back  to  his  ancestral  hall,  where  he  contented  him- 
self with  a  wax-lighted  chandelier,  and  filled,  in  due 
course  of  time,  another  coffin  in  the  ancestral  vault.  As 
the  funeral  torches  gleamed  within  that  dark  receptacle, 
there  was  no  need  of  the  Great  Carbuncle  to  show  the 
vanity  of  earthly  pomp. 

The  Cynic,  having  cast  aside  his  spectacles,  wandered 
about  the  world,  a  miserable  object,  and  was  punished 
with  an  agonizing  desire  of  light,  for  the  wilful  blindness 
of  his  former  life.  The  whole  night  long  he  would  lift 
his  splendor-blasted  orbs  to  the  moon  and  stars;  he 
turned  his  face  eastward,  at  sunrise,  as  duly  as  a  Persian 
idolater ;  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  to  witness  the 
magnificent  illumination  of  St.  Peter's  Church;  and 
finally  perished  in  the  great  fire  of  London,  into  the 
midst  of  which  he  had  thrust  himself,  with  the  desperate 
idea  of  catching  one  feeble  ray  from  the  blaze,  that  was 
kindling  earth  and  heaven. 

Matthew  and  his  bride  spent  many  peaceful  years,  and 
were  fond  of  telling  the  legend  of  the  Great  Carbuncle. 
The  tale,  however,  towards  the  close  of  their  lengthened 
lives,  did  not  meet  with  the  full  credence  that  had  been 
accorded  to  it  by  those  who  remembered  the  ancient  lus- 
tre of  the  gem.  For  it  is  affirmed,  that,  from  the  hour 
when  two  mortals  had  shown  themselves  so  simply  wise 
as  to  reject  a  jewel  which  would  have  dimmed  all  earthly 
things,  its  splendor  waned.  When  other  pilgrims  reached 


180  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

the  cliff,  they  found  only  an  opaque  stone,  with  particles 
of  mica  glittering  on  its  surface.  There  is  also  a  tradition 
that,  as  the  youthful  pair  departed,  the  gem  was  loosened 
from  the  forehead  of  the  cliff,  and  fell  into  the  enchanted 
lake,  and  that,  at  noontide,  the  Seeker's  form  may  still 
be  seen  to  bend  over  its  quenchless  gleam. 

Some  few  believe  that  this  inestimable  stone  is  blazing, 
as  of  old,  and  say  that  they  have  caught  its  radiance,  like 
a  flash  of  summer  lightning,  far  down  the  valley  of  the 
Saco.  And  be  it  owned,  that,  many  a  mile  from  the 
Crystal  Hills,  I  saw  a  wondrous  light  around  their  sum- 
mits, and  was  lured,  by  the  faith  of  poesy,  to  be  the 
latest  pilgrim  of  the  GREAT  CARBUNCLE. 


THE  PROPHETIC  PICTURES.* 

|UT  this  painter ! "  cried  Walter  Ludlow,  with 
animation.  "  He  not  only  excels  in  his  pecul- 
iar art,  but  possesses  vast  acquirements  in  all 
other  learning  and  science.  He  talks  Hebrew  with  Dr. 
Mather,  and  gives  lectures  in  anatomy  to  Dr.  Boylston. 
In  a  word,  he  will  meet  the  best  instructed  man  among 
us,  on  his  own  ground.  Moreover,  he  is  a  polished  gen- 
tleman, —  a  citizen  of  the  world,  — yes,  a  true  cosmopo- 
lite ;  for  he  will  speak  like  a  native  of  each  clime  and 
country  on  the  globe,  except  our  own  forests,  whither 
he  is  now  going.  Nor  is  all  this  what  I  most  admire  in 
him." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Elinor,  who  had  listened  with  a  wo- 
man's interest  to  the  description  of  such  a  man.  "  Yet 
this  is  admirable  enough." 

"  Surely  it  is,"  replied  her  lover,  "  but  far  less  so 
than  his  natural  gift  of  adapting  himself  to  every  variety 
of  character,  insomuch  that  all  men  —  and  all  women 
too,  Elinor  —  shall  find  a  mirror  of  themselves  in  this 
wonderful  painter.  But  the  greatest  wonder  is  yet  to 
be  told." 

*  This  story  was  suggested  by  an  anecdote  of  Stuart,  related 
in  Duulap's  History  of  the  Arts  of  Design,  — a  most  enter- 
taining book  to  the  general  reader,  and  a  deeply  interesting 
one,  we  should  think,  to  the  artist. 


182  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"Nay,  if  he  have  more  wonderful  attributes  than 
these,"  said  Elinor,  laughing,  "Boston  is  a  perilous 
abode  for  the  poor  gentleman.  Are  you  telling  me  of 
a  painter,  or  a  wizard  ?  " 

"In  truth,"  answered  he,  "that  question  might  be 
asked  much  more  seriously  than  you  suppose.  They 
say  that  he  paints  not  merely  a  man's  features,  but  his 
mind  and  heart.  He  catches  the  secret  sentiments  and 
passions,  and  throws  them  upon  the  canvas,  like  sun- 
shine, —  or  perhaps,  in  the  portraits  of  dark-souled  men, 
like  a  gleam  of  infernal  fire.  It  is  an  awful  gift,'*  added 
Walter,  lowering  his  voice  from  its  tone  of  enthusiasm. 
"  I  shall  be  almost  afraid  to  sit  to  him." 

"  Walter,  are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  exclaimed  Eh' nor. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  dearest  Elinor,  do  not  let  him 
paint  the  look  which  you  now  wear,"  said  her  lover, 
smiling,  though  rather  perplexed.  "  There  :  it  is  pass- 
ing away  now,  but  when  you  spoke,  you  seemed  fright- 
ened to  death,  and  very  sad  besides.  What  were  you 
thinking  of?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  answered  Elinor,  hastily.  "  You 
paint  my  face  with  your  own  fantasies.  Well,  come  for 
me  to-morrow,  and  we  will  visit  this  wonderful  artist." 

But  when  the  young  man  had  departed,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  a  remarkable  expression  was  again  visible 
on  the  fair  and  youthful  face  of  his  mistress.  It  was  a 
sad  and  anxious  look,  little  in  accordance  with  what 
should  have  been  the  feelings  of  a  maiden  on  the  eve  of 
wedlock.  Yet  Walter  Ludlow  was  the  chosen  of  her 
heart. 

"A  look !  "  said  Elinor  to  herself.  " No  wonder  that 
it  startled  him,  if  it  expressed  what  I  sometimes  feel. 
I  know,  by  my  own  experience,  how  frightful  a  look 
may  be.  But  it  was  all  fancy.  I  thought  nothing  of  it 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  183 

at  the  time,  —  I  have  seen  nothing  of  it  since,  —  I  did 
but  dream  it." 

And  she  busied  herself  about  the  embroidery  of  a 
ruff,  in  which  she  meant  that  her  portrait  should  be 
taken. 

The  painter,  of  whom  they  had  been  speaking,  was 
not  one  of  those  native  artists,  who,  at  a  later  period 
than  this,  borrowed  their  colors  from  the  Indians,  and 
manufactured  their  pencils  of  the  furs  of  wild  beasts. 
Perhaps,  if  he  could  have  revoked  his  life  and  prear- 
ranged his  destiny,  he  might  have  chosen  to  belong  to 
that  school  without  a  master,  in  the  hope  of  being  at 
least  original,  since  there  were  no  works  of  art  to  imi- 
tate, nor  rules  to  follow.  But  he  had  been  born  and 
educated  in  Europe.  People  said,  that  he  had  studied 
the  grandeur  or  beauty  of  conception,  and  every  touch 
of  the  master  hand,  in  all  the  most  famous  pictures,  in 
cabinets  and  galleries,  and  on  the  walls  of  churches,  till 
there  was  nothing  more  for  his  powerful  mind  to  learn. 
Art  could  add  nothing  to  its  lessons,  but  Nature  might. 
He  had  therefore  visited  a  world,  whither  none  of  his 
professional  brethren  had  preceded  him,  to  feast  his  eyes 
on  visible  images,  that  were  noble  and  picturesque,  yet 
had  never  been  transferred  to  canvas.  America  was  too 
poor  to  afford  other  temptations  to  an  artist  of  eminence, 
though  many  of  the  colonial  gentry,  on  the  painter's 
arrival,  had  expressed  a  wish  to  transmit  their  linea- 
ments to  posterity,  by  means  of  his  skill.  Whenever 
such  proposals  were  made,  he  fixed  his  piercing  eyes 
on  the  applicant,  and  seemed  to  look  him  through  and 
through.  If  he  beheld  only  a  sleek  and  comfortable 
visage,  though  there  were  a  gold-laced  coat  to  adorn 
the  picture,  and  golden  guineas  to  pay  for  it,  he  civilly 
rejected  the  task  and  the  reward.  But  if  the  face  were 


184  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  index  of  anything  uncommon,  in  thought,  sentiment, 
or  experience ;  or  if  he  met  a  beggar  in  the  street,  with 
a  white  beard  and  a  furrowed  brow ;  or  if  sometimes  a 
child  happened  to  look  up  and  smile  ;  he  would  exhaust 
all  the  art  on  them,  that  he  denied  to  wealth. 

Pictorial  skill  being  so  rare  in  the  colonies,  the  painter 
became  an  object  of  general  curiosity.  If  few  or  none 
could  appreciate  the  technical  merit  of  his  productions, 
yet  there  were  points  in  regard  to  which  the  opinion  of 
the  crowd  was  as  valuable  as  the  refined  judgment  of  the 
amateur.  He  watched  the  effect  that  each  picture  pro- 
duced on  such  untutored  beholders,  and  derived  profit  from 
their  remarks,  while  they  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
instructing  Nature  herself,  as  him  who  seemed  to  rival 
her.  Their  admiration,  it  must  be  owned,  was  tinctured 
with  the  prejudices  of  the  age  and  country.  Some  deemed 
it  an  offence  against  the  Mosaic  law,  and  even  a  presump- 
tuous mockery  of  the  Creator,  to  bring  into  existence 
such  lively  images  of  his  creatures.  Others,  frightened 
at  the  art  which  could  raise  phantoms  at  will,  and  keep 
the  form  of  the  dead  among  the  living,  were  inclined  to 
consider  the  painter  as  a  magician,  or  perhaps  the  famous 
Black  Man,  of  old  witch  times,  plotting  mischief  in  a  new 
guise.  These  foolish  fancies  were  more  than  half  believed 
among  the  mob.  Even  in  superior  circles,  his  character 
was  invested  with  a  vague  awe,  partly  rising  like  smoke- 
wreaths  from  the  popular  superstitions,  but  chiefly  caused 
by  the  varied  knowledge  and  talents  which  he  made  sub- 
servient to  his  profession. 

Being  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  Walter  Ludlow  and 
Elinor  were  eager  to  obtain  their  portraits,  as  the  first  of 
what,  they  doubtless  hoped,  would  be  a  long  series  of 
family  pictures.  The  day  after  the  conversation  above 
recorded,  they  visited  the  painter's  rooms.  A  servant 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  185 

ushered  them  into  an  apartment,  where,  though  the  artist 
himself  was  not  visible,  there  were  personages  whom  they 
could  hardly  forbear  greeting  with  reverence.  They  knew, 
indeed,  that  the  whole  assembly  were  but  pictures,  yet  felt 
it  impossible  to  separate  the  idea  of  life  and  intellect 
from  such  striking  counterfeits.  Several  of  the  portraits 
were  known  to  them,  either  as  distinguished  characters 
of  the  day,  or  their  private  acquaintances.  There  was 
Governor  Burnett,  looking  as  if  ho  had  just  received  an 
undutiful  communication  from  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, and  were  inditing  a  most  sharp  response.  Mr. 
Cooke  hung  beside  the  ruler  whom  he  opposed,  sturdy, 
and  somewhat  puritanical,  as  befitted  a  popular  leader. 
The  ancient  lady  of  Sir  William  Phipps  eyed  them  from 
the  wall,  in  ruff  and  farthingale,  au  imperious  old  dame, 
not  unsuspected  of  witchcraft.  John  Winslow,  then  a  very 
young  man,  wore  the  expression  of  warlike  enterprise, 
which  long  afterwards  made  him  a  distinguished  general. 
Their  personal  friends  were  recognized  at  a  glance.  In. 
most  of  the  pictures,  the  whole  mind  and  character  were 
brought  out  on  the  countenance,  and  concentrated  into  a 
single  look,  so  that,  to  speak  paradoxically,  the  originals 
hardly  resembled  themselves  so  strikingly  as  the  portraits 
did. 

Among  these  modern  worthies,  there  were  two  old 
bearded  saints,  who  had  almost  vanished  into  the  darken- 
ing canvas.  There  was  also  a  pale,  but  unfaded  Madonna, 
who  had  perhaps  been  worshipped  in  Rome,  and  now 
regarded  (he  lovers  with  such  a  mild  and  holy  look,  that 
they  longed  to  worship  too. 

"  How  singular  a  thought,"  observed  Walter  Ludlow, 
"  that  this  beautiful  face  has  been  beautiful  for  above  two 
hundred  years  !  O,  if  all  beauty  would  endure  so  well .' 
Do  you  not  envy  her,  Minor  ?  " 


186  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"If  earth  were  heaven,  I  might,"  she  replied.  "  But 
where  all  things  fade,  how  miserable  to  be  the  one  that 
could  not  fade  !  " 

"  This  dark  old  St.  Peter  has  a  fierce  and  ugly  scowl, 
saint  though  he  be,"  continued  Walter.  "  He  troubles 
me.  But  the  Virgin  looks  kindly  at  us." 

"  Yes ;  but  very  sorrowfully,  methinks,"  said  Elinor. 

The  easel  stood  beneath  these  three  old  pictures,  sus- 
taining one  that  had  been  recently  commenced.  After  a 
little  inspection,  they  began  to  recognize  the  features  of 
their  own  minister,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Colman,  growing  into 
shape  and  life,  as  it  were,  out  of  a  cloud. 

"  Kind  old  man  !  "  exclaimed  Elinor.  "  He  gazes  at 
me,  as  if  he  were  about  to  utter  a  word  of  paternal  ad- 
vice." 

"  And  at  me,"  said  Walter,  "  as  if  he  were  about  to 
shake  his  head  and  rebuke  me  for  some  suspected  in- 
iquity. But  so  does  the  original.  I  shall  never  feel 
quite  comfortable  under  his  eye,  till  we  stand  before  him 
to  be  married." 

They  now  heard  a  footstep  on  the  floor,  and  turning, 
beheld  the  painter,  who  had  been  some  moments  in  the 
room,  and  had  listened  to  a  few  of  their  remarks.  He 
was  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  countenance  well  worthy 
of  his  own  pencil.  Indeed,  by  the  picturesque,  though 
careless  arrangement  of  his  rich  dress,  and,  perhaps,  be- 
cause his  soul  dwelt  always  among  painted  shapes,  he 
looked  somewhat  like  a  portrait  himself.  His  visitors 
were  sensible  of  a  kindred  between  the  artist  and  his 
works,  and  felt  as  if  one  of  the  pictures  had  stepped  from 
the  canvas  to  salute  them. 

Walter  Ludlow,  who  was  slightly  known  to  the  painter, 
explained  the  object  of  their  visit.  While  he  spoke,  a 
sunbeam  was  falling  athwart  his  figure  and  Elinor's,  witb 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  187 

so  happy  an  effect,  that  they  also  seemed  living  pictures 
of  youth  and  beauty,  gladdened  by  bright  fortune.  The 
artist  was  evidently  struck. 

"  My  easel  is  occupied  for  several  ensuing  days,  and 
my  stay  in  Boston  must  be  brief,"  said  he,  thoughtfully; 
then,  after  an  observant  glance,  he  added,  "  but  your 
wishes  shall  be  gratified,  though  I  disappoint  the  Chief 
Justice  and  Madam  Oliver.  I  must  not  lose  this  op- 
portunity, for  the  sake  of  painting  a  few  ells  of  broad- 
cloth and  brocade." 

The  painter  expressed  a  desire  to  introduce  both  their 
portraits  into  one  picture,  and  represent  them  engaged 
in  some  appropriate  action.  This  plan  would  have  de- 
lighted the  lovers,  but  was  necessarily  rejected,  because 
so  large  a  space  of  canvas  would  have  been  unfit  for  the 
room  which  it  was  intended  to  decorate.  Two  half-length 
portraits  were  therefore  fixed  upon.  After  they  had 
taken  leave,  Walter  Ludlow  asked  Elinor,  with  a  smile, 
whether  she  knew  what  an  influence  over  their  fates  the 
painter  was  about  to  acquire. 

"The  old  women  of  Boston  afiirm,"  continued  he, 
"  that  after  he  has  once  got  possession  of  a  person's  face 
and  figure,  he  may  paint  him  in  any  act  or  situation 
whatever,  —  and  the  picture  will  be  prophetic.  Do  you 
believe  it  ? " 

"Not  quite,"  said  Elinor,  smiling.  "Yet  if  he  has 
such  magic,  there  is  something  so  gentle  in  his  manner, 
that  I  am  sure  he  will  use  it  well." 

It  was  the  painter's  choice  to  proceed  with  both  the 
portraits  at  the  same  time,  assigning  as  a  reason,  in  the 
mystical  language  which  he  sometimes  used,  that  the  faces 
threw  light  upon  each  other.  Accordingly,  he  gave  now 
a  touch  to  Walter,  and  now  to  Elinor,  and  the  features 
of  one  and  the  other  began  to  start  forth  so  vividly,  that 


188  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

it  appeared  as  if  his  triumphant  art  would  actually  disen- 
gage them  from  the  canvas.  Amid  the  rich  light  and 
deep  shade,  they  beheld  their  phantom  selves.  But, 
though  the  likeness  promised  to  be  perfect,  they  were 
not  quite  satisfied  with  the  expression ;  it  seemed  more 
vague  than  in  most  of  the  painter's  works.  He,  how- 
ever, was  satisfied  with  the  prospect  of  success,  and 
being  much  interested  in  the  lovers,  employed  his  leisure 
moments,  unknown  to  them,  in  making  a  crayon  sketch 
of  their  two  figures.  During  their  sittings,  he  engaged 
them  in  conversation,  and  kindled  up  their  faces  with 
characteristic  traits,  which,  though  continually  varying, 
it  was  his  purpose  to  combine  and  fix.  At  length  he 
announced,  that  at  their  next  visit  both  the  portraits 
would  be  ready  for  delivery. 

"  If  my  pencil  will  but  be  true  to  my  conception,  in 
the  few  last  touches  which  I  meditate,"  observed  he, 
"  these  two  pictures  will  be  my  very  best  performances. 
Seldom,  indeed,  has  an  artist  such  subjects." 

While  speaking,  he  still  bent  his  penetrative  eye  upon 
them,  nor  withdrew  it  till  they  had  reached  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs. 

Nothing,  in  the  whole  circle  of  human  vanities,  takes 
stronger  hold  of  the  imagination,  than  this  affair  of  hav- 
ing a  portrait  painted.  Yet  why  should  it  be  so  ?  The 
looking-glass,  the  polished  globes  of  the  andirons,  the 
mirror-like  water,  and  all  other  reflecting  surfaces,  con- 
tinually present  us  with  portraits,  or  rather  ghosts,  of 
ourselves,  which  we  glance  at,  and  straightway  forget 
them.  But  we  forget  them,  only  because  they  vanish. 
It  is  the  idea  of  duration — of  earthly  immortality  —  that 
gives  such  a  mysterious  interest  to  our  own  portraits. 
Walter  and  Elinor  were  not  insensible  to  this  feeling, 
.and  hastened  to  the  painter's  room,  punctually  at  the 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  189 

appointed  hour,  to  meet  those  pictured  shapes,  which 
were  to  be  their  representatives  with  posterity.  The 
sunshine  flashed  after  them  into  the  apartment,  but  left 
it  somewhat  gloomy,  as  they  closed  the  door. 

Their  eyes  were  immediately  attracted  to  their  por- 
traits, which  rested  against  the  farthest  wall  of  the  room. 
At  the  first  glance,  through  the  dim  light  and  the  distance, 
seeing  themselves  in  precisely  their  natural  attitudes,  and 
with  all  the  air  that  they  recognized  so  well,  they  uttered 
a  simultaneous  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  There  we  stand,"  cried  Walter,  enthusiastically, 
"  fixed  in  sunshine  forever !  No  dark  passions  can 
gather  on  our  faces  !  " 

"No,"  said  Elinor,  more  calmly;  "no  dreary  change 
can  sadden  us." 

This  was  said  while  they  were  approaching,  and  had 
yet  gained  only  an  imperfect  view  of  the  pictures.  The 
painter,  after  saluting  them,  busied  himself  at  a  table  in 
completing  a  crayon  sketch,  leaving  his  visitors  to  form 
their  own  judgment  as  to  his  perfected  labors.  At  inter- 
vals, he  sent  a  glance  from  beneath  his  deep  eyebrows, 
watching  their  countenances  in  profile,  with  his  pencil 
suspended  over  the  sketch.  They  had  now  stood  some 
moments,  each  in  front  of  the  other's  picture,  contem- 
plating it  with  entranced  attention,  but  without  uttering 
a  word.  At  length,  Walter  stepped  forward,  —  then  back, 
—  viewing  Elinor's  portrait  in  various  lights,  and  finally 
spoke. 

"  Is  there  not  a  change  ?  "  said  he,  in  a  doubtful  and 
meditative  tone.  "  Yes ;  the  perception  of  it  grows  more 
vivid,  the  longer  I  look.  It  is  certainly  the  same  picture 
that  I  saw  yesterday ;  the  dress,  —  the  features,  —  all 
are  the  same;  and  yet  something  is  altered." 

"  Is  then  the  picture  less  like  than  it  was  yesterday  P  " 


190  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

inquired  the  painter,  now  drawing  near,  with  irrepressible 
interest. 

"  The  features  are  perfect,  Elinor,"  answered  Walter, 
"and,  at  the  first  glance,  the  expression  seemed  also 
hers.  But,  I  could  fancy  that  the  portrait  has  changed 
countenance,  while  I  have  been  looking  at  it.  The  eyes 
are  fixed  on  mine  with  a  strangely  sad  and  anxious 
expression.  Nay,  it  is  grief  and  terror !  Is  this  like 
Elinor  ?  " 

"  Compare  the  living  face  with  the  pictured  one,"  said 
the  painter. 

Walter  glanced  sidelong  at  his  mistress,  and  started. 
Motionless  and  absorbed  —  fascinated  as  it  were  —  in 
contemplation  of  Walter's  portrait,  Elinor's  face  had 
assumed  precisely  the  expression  of  which  he  had  just 
been  complaining.  Had  she  practised  for  whole  hours 
before  a  mirror,  she  could  not  have  caught  the  look  so 
successfully.  Had  the  picture  itself  been  a  mirror,  it 
could  not  have  thrown  back  her  present  aspect,  with 
stronger  and  more  melancholy  truth.  She  appeared 
quite  unconscious  of  the  dialogue  between  the  artist 
and  her  lover. 

"Elinor,"  exclaimed  Walter,  in  amazement,  "what 
change  has  come  over  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  hear  him,  nor  desist  from  her  fixed  gaze, 
till  he  seized  her  hand,  and  thus  attracted  her  notice; 
then,  with  a  sudden  tremor,  she  looked  from  the  picture 
to  the  face  of  the  original. 

"  Do  you  see  no  change  in  your  portrait  ?  "  asked  she. 

"  In  mine  ?  —  None  !  "  replied  Walter,  examining  it. 
"  But  let  me  see !  Yes ;  there  is  a  slight  change,  —  an 
improvement,  I  think,  in  the  picture,  though  none  in  the 
likeness.  It  has  a  livelier  expression  than  yesterday,  as 
if  some  bright  thought  were  flashing  from  the  eyes,  and 


THE    PROPHETIC   PICTURES.  191 

about  to  be  uttered  from  the  lips.  Now  that  I  have 
caught  the  look,  it  becomes  very  decided. 

While  he  was  intent  on  these  observations,  Elinor 
turned  to  the  painter.  She  regarded  him  with  grief  and 
awe,  and  felt  that  he  repaid  her  witli  sympathy  and  com- 
miseration, though  wherefore  she  could  but  vaguely 
guess. 

"  That  look  !  "  whispered  she,  and  shuddered.  "  How 
came  it  there  ?  " 

"Madam,"  said  the  painter,  sadly,  taking  her  hand, 
and  leading  her  apart,  "  in  both  these  pictures,  I  have 
painted  what  I  saw.  The  artist —  the  true  artist  — 
must  look  beneath  the  exterior.  It  is  his  gift  —  his 
proudest  but  often  a  melancholy  one  —  to  see  the  inmost 
soul,  and  by  a  power  indefinable  even  to  himself  to  make 
it  glow  or  darken  upon  the  canvas,  in  glances  that  ex- 
press the  thought  and  sentiment  of  years.  Would  that 
I  might  convince  myself  of  error  in  the  present  in- 
stance ! " 

They  had  now  approached  the  table,  on  which  were 
heads  in  chalk,  hands  almost  as  expressive  as  ordinary 
faces,  ivied  church-towers,  thatched  cottages,  old  thun- 
der-stricken trees,  Oriental  and  antique  costume,  and  all 
such  picturesque  vagaries  of  an  artist's  idle  moments. 
Turning  them  over,  with  seeming  carelessness,  a  crayon 
sketch  of  two  figures  was  disclosed. 

"If  I  have  failed,"  continued  he,  "if  your  heart  does 
not  see  itself  reflected  in  your  own  portrait,  if  you  have 
no  secret  cause  to  trust  my  delineation  of  the  other,  it 
is  not  yet  too  late  to  alter  them.  I  might  change  the 
action  of  these  figures  too.  But  would  it  influence  the 
event  ? " 

He  directed  her  notice  to  the  sketch.  A  thrill  ran 
through  Elinor's  frame ;  a  shriek  was  upon  her  lips  ;  but 


192  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

she  stifled  it,  with  the  self-command  that  becomes  habit- 
ual to  all,  who  hide  thoughts  of  fear  and  anguish  within 
their  bosoms.  Turning  from  the  table,  she  perceived 
that  Walter  had  advanced  near  enough  to  have  seen  the 
sketch,  though  she  could  not  determine  whether  it  had 
caught  his  eye. 

"  We  will  not  have  the  pictures  altered,"  said  she, 
hastily.  "  If  mine  is  sad,  I  shall  but  look  the  gayer  for 
the  contrast." 

"Be  it  so,"  answered  the  painter,  bowing.  "May 
your  griefs  be  such  fanciful  ones,  that  only  your  picture 
may  mourn  for  them  !  For  your  joys,  —  may  they  be 
true  and  deep,  and  paint  themselves  upon  this  lovely  face 
till  it  quite  belie  my  art !  " 

After  the  marriage  of  Walter  and  Elinor,  the  pictures 
formed  the  two  most  splendid  ornaments  of  their  abode. 
They  hung  side  by  side,  separated  by  a  narrow  pannel, 
appearing  to  eye  each  other  constantly,  yet  always  re- 
turning the  gaze  of  the  spectator.  Travelled  gentlemen, 
who  professed  a  knowledge  of  such  subjects,  reckoned 
these  among  the  most  admirable  specimens  of  modern 
portraiture ;  while  common  observers  compared  them 
with  the  originals,  feature  by  feature,  and  were  raptu- 
rous in  praise  of  the  likeness.  But  it  was  on  a  third 
class  —  neither  travelled  connoisseurs  nor  common  ob- 
servers, but  people  of  natural  sensibility  —  that  the  pic- 
tures wrought  their  strongest  effect.  Such  persons 
might  gaze  carelessly  at  first,  but,  becoming  interested, 
would  return  day  after  day,  and  study  these  painted  faces 
like  the  pages  of  a  mystic  volume.  Walter  Ludlow's 
portrait  attracted  their  earliest  notice.  In  the  absence 
of  himself  and  his  bride,  they  sometimes  disputed  as  to 
the  expression,  which  the  painter  had  intended  to  throw 
upon  the  features ;  all  agreeing  that  there  was  a  look  of 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  193 

earnest  import,  though  no  two  explained  it  alike.  There 
was  less  diversity  of  opinion  in  regard  to  Elinor's  pic- 
ture. They  differed,  indeed,  in  their  attempts  to  esti- 
mate the  nature  and  depth  of  the  gloom  that  dwelt  upon 
her  face,  but  agreed  that  it  was  gloom,  and  alien  from 
the  natural  temperament  of  their  youthful  friend.  A 
certain  fanciful  person  announced,  as  the  result  of  much 
scrutiny,  that  both  these  pictures  were  parts  of  one  de- 
sign, and  that  the  melancholy  strength  of  feeling,  in 
Elinor's  countenance,  bore  reference  to  the  more  vivid 
emotion,  or,  as  he  termed  it,  tke  wild  passion,  in  that  of 
Walter.  Though  unskilled  in  the  art,  he  even  began  a 
sketch,  in  which  the  action  of  the  two  figures  was  to 
correspond  with  their  mutual  expression. 

It  was  whispered  among  friends,  that,  day  by  day, 
Elinor's  face  was  assuming  a  deeper  shade  of  pensive- 
ness,  which  threatened  soon  to  render  her  too  true  a 
counterpart  of  her  melancholy  picture.  Walter,  on  the 
other  hand,  instead  of  acquiring  the  vivid  look  which 
the  painter  had  given  him  on  the  canvas,  became  re- 
served and  downcast,  with  no  outward  flashes  of  emo- 
tion, however  it  might  be  smouldering  within.  In  course 
of  time,  Elinor  hung  a  gorgeous  curtain  of  purple  silk, 
wrought  with  flowers,  and  fringed  with  heavy  golden 
tassels,  before  the  pictures,  under  pretence  that  the  dust 
would  tarnish  their  hues,  or  the  light  dim  them.  It  was 
enough.  Her  visitors  felt,  that  the  massive  folds  of  the 
silk  must  never  be  withdrawn,  nor  the  portraits  men- 
tioned in  her  presence. 

Time  wore  on  ;  and  the  painter  came  again.  He  had 
been  fur  enough  to  the  north  to  see  the  silver  cascade  of 
the  Crystal  Hills,  and  to  look  over  the  vast  round  of 
cloud  and  forest,  from  the  summit  of  New  England's 
loftfest  mountain.  But  he  did  not  profane  that  scene  by 

VOL.  I.  9  M 


194  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  mockery  of  his  art.  He  had  also  lain  in  a  canoe  on 
the  bosom  of  Lake  George,  making  his  soul  the  mirror 
of  its  loveliness  and  grandeur,  till  not  a  picture  in  the 
Vatican  was  more  vivid  than  his  recollection.  He  had 
gone  with  the  Indian  hunters  to  Niagara,  and  there, 
again,  had  flung  his  hopeless  pencil  down  the  precipice, 
feeling  that  he  could  as  soon  paint  the  roar,  as  aught  else 
that  goes  to  make  up  the  wondrous  cataract.  In  truth, 
it  was  seldom  his  impulse  to  copy  natural  scenery,  ex- 
cept as  a  framework  for  the  delineations  of  the  human 
form  and  face,  instinct  with  thought,  passion,  or  suffering. 
With  store  of  such,  his  adventurous  ramble  had  enriched 
him  ;  the  stern  dignity  of  Indian  chiefs ;  the  dusky  loveli- 
ness of  Indian  girls  ;  the  domestic  life  of  wigwams ;  the 
stealthy  march ;  the  battle  beneath  gloomy  pine-trees ; 
the  frontier  fortress  witli  its  garrison ;  the  anomaly  of 
the  old  French  partisan,  bred  in  courts,  but  grown  gray 
in  shaggy  deserts ;  —  such  were  the  scenes  and  portraits 
that  he  had  sketched.  The  glow  of  perilous  moments ; 
flashes  of  wild  feeling ;  struggles  of  fierce  power ;  love, 
hate,  grief,  frenzy ;  in  a  word,  all  the  worn-out  heart  of 
the  old  earth  had  been  revealed  to  him  under  a  new 
form.  His  portfolio  was  filled  with  graphic  illustrations 
of  the  volume  of  his  memory,  which  genius  would  trans- 
mute into  its  own  substance,  and  imbue  with  immor- 
tality. He  felt  that  the  deep  wisdom  in  his  art,  which 
he  had  sought  so  far,  was  found. 

But,  amid  stern  or  lovely  nature,  in  the  perils  of  the 
forest,  or  its  overwhelming  peacefulness,  still  there  had 
been  two  phantoms,  the  companions  of  his  way.  Like 
all  other  men  around  whom  an  engrossing  purpose 
wreathes  itself,  he  was  insulated  from  the  mass  of  hu-^ 
man  kind.  He  had  no  aim,  —  no  pleasure,  —  no  sympa- 
thies, —  but  what  were  ultimately  connected  with  hi»art 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  195 

Though  gentle  in  manner,  and  upright  in  intent  and 
action,  he  did  not  possess  kindly  feelings;  his  heart  wai 
cold ;  no  living  creature  could  be  brought  near  enough 
to  keep  him  warm.  For  these  two  beings,  however, 
he  had  felt,  in  its  greatest  intensity,  the  sort  of  interest 
which  always  allied  him  to  the  subjects  of  his  pencil. 
He  had  pried  into  their  souls  with  his  keenest  insight, 
and  pictured  the  result  upon  their  features,  with  his 
utmost  skill,  so  as  barely  to  fall  short  of  that  standard 
which  no  genius  ever  reached,  his  own  severe  concep- 
tion. He  had  caught  from  the  duskiness  of  the  future 

—  at  least,  so  he  fancied  —  a  fearful  secret,  and  had  ob- 
scurely revealed  it  on  the  portraits.     So  much  of  himself 

—  of  his  imagination  and  all  other  powers  —  had  been, 
lavished  on  the  study  of  Walter  and  Elinor,  that  he 
almost  regarded  them  as  creations  of  his  own,  like  the 
thousands  with  which  he  had  peopled  the  realms  of  Pic- 
ture.    Therefore  did  they  flit  through  the  twilight  of  the 
woods,  hover  on  the  mist  of  waterfalls,  look  forth  from 
the  mirror  of  the  lake,  nor  melt  away  in  the  noontide 
sun.     They  haunted  his  pictorial  fancy,  not  as  mockeries 
of  life,  nor  pale  goblins  of  the  dead,  but  in  the  guise  of 
portraits,  each   with   the   unalterable   expression  which 
his  magic  had  evoked  from  the   caverns   of  the   soul. 
He  could  not  rocross  the  Atlantic,  till  he  had  again  be- 
held the  originals  of  those  airy  pictures. 

"  O  glorious  Art ! "  thus  mused  the  enthusiastic 
painter,  as  he  trod  the  street.  "Thou  art  the  image 
of  the  Creator's  own.  The  innumerable  forms,  that 
wander  in  nothingness,  start  into  being  at  thy  beck. 
The  doftd  live  again.  Thou  recallest  them  to  their  old 
scenes,  and  givest  their  gray  shadows  the  lustre  of  a 
better  life,  at  once  earthly  and  immortal.  Thou  snatch- 
est  back  the  fleeting  moments  of  History.  With  thee, 


196  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

there  is  no  Past ;  for,  at  thy  touch,  all  that  is  great  be- 
comes forever  present ;  and  illustrious  men  live  through 
long  ages,  in  the  visible  performance  of  the  very  deeds 
•which  made  them  what  they  are.  O  potent  Art!  as 
thou  bringest  the  faintly  revealed  Past  to  stand  in  that 
narrow  strip  of  sunlight,  which  we  call  Now,  canst  thou 
summon  the  shrouded  Future  to  meet  her  there  ?  Have 
I  not  achieved  it  ?  Am  I  not  thy  Prophet  ?  " 

Thus,  with  a  proud,  yet  melancholy  fervor,  did  he 
almost  cry  aloud,  as  he  passed  through  the  toilsome 
street,  among  people  that  knew  not  of  his  reveries,  nor 
could  understand  nor  care  for  them.  It  is  not  good  for 
man  to  cherish  a  solitary  ambition.  Unless  there  be 
those  around  him,  by  whose  example  he  may  regulate 
himself,  his  thoughts,  desires,  and  hopes  will  become 
extravagant,  and  he  the  semblance,  perhaps  the  reality, 
of  a  madman.  Reading  other  bosoms,  with  an  acuteness 
almost  preternatural,  the  painter  failed  to  see  the  dis- 
order of  his  own. 

"  And  this  should  be  the  house,"  said  he,  looking  up 
and  down  the  front,  before  he  knocked.  "  Heaven  help 
my  brains  !  That  picture  !  Methinks  it  will  never  van- 
ish. Whether  I  look  at  the  windows  or  the  door,  there 
it  is  framed  within  them,  painted  strongly,  and  glowing 
in  the  richest  tints  —  the  faces  of  the  portraits  —  the 
figures  and  action  of  the  sketch ! " 

He  knocked. 

"  The  Portraits  !  Are  they  within  ?  "  inquired  he,  of 
the  domestic  ;  then  recollecting  himself,  —  "  your  master 
and  mistress  !  Are  they  at  home  ?  " 

"They  are,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  adding,  as  he  no- 
ticed that  picturesque  aspect  of  which  the  painter  could 
never  divest  himself,  "  and  the  Portraits  too !  " 

The  guest  was  admitted  into  a  parlor,  communicating 


THE    PROPHETIC    PICTURES.  197 

by  a  central  door  with  an  interior  room  of  the  same  size. 
As  the  first  apartment  was  empty,  he  passed  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  second,  within  which  his  eyes  were  greeted 
by  those  living  personages,  as  well  as  their  pictured  rep- 
resentatives, who  had  long  been  the  objects  of  so  singular 
an  interest.  He  involuntarily  paused  on  the  threshold. 

They  had  not  perceived  his  approach.  Walter  and 
Elinor  were  standing  before  the  portraits,  whence  the 
former  had  just  flung  back  the  rich  and  voluminous 
folds  of  the  silken  curtain,  holding  its  golden  tassel  with 
one  hand,  while  the  other  grasped  that  of  his  bride. 
The  pictures,  concealed  for  months,  gleamed  forth  again 
in  undiminished  splendor,  appearing  to  throw  a  sombre 
light  across' the  room,  rather  than  to  be  disclosed  by  a 
borrowed  radiance.  That  of  Elinor  had  been  almost  pro- 
phetic. A  pensiveness,  and  next  a  gentle  sorrow,  had 
successively  dwelt  upon  her  countenance,  deepening,  with 
the  lapse  of  time,  into  a  quiet  anguish.  A  mixture  of 
affright  would  now  have  made  it  the  very  expression  of 
the  portrait  Walter's  face  was  moody  and  dull,  or  ani- 
mated only  by  fitful  flashes,  which  left  a  heavier  darkness 
for  their  momentary  illumination.  He  looked  from  Eli- 
nor to  her  portrait,  and  thence  to  his  own,  in  the  con- 
templation of  which  he  finally  stood  absorbed. 

The  painter  seemed  to  hear  the  step  of  Destiny  ap- 
proaching behind  him,  on  its  progress  towards  its  vic- 
tims. A  strange  thought  darted  into  his  mind.  Was 
not  his  own  the  form  in  which  that  destiny  had  embodied 
itself,  and  he  a  chief  agent  of  the  coming  evil  which  he 
had  foreshadowed  ? 

Still,  Walter  remained  silent  before  the  picture,  com- 
muning with  it,  as  with  his  own  heart,  and  abandoning 
himself  to  the  spell  of  evil  influence,  that  the  painter 
had  cast  upon  the  features.  Gradually  his  eyes  kindled ; 


198  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

while  as  Elinor  watched  the  increasing  wildness  of  his 
face,  her  own  assumed  a  look  of  terror;  and  when  at 
last  he  turned  upon  her,  the  resemblance  of  both  to  their 
portraits  was  complete. 

"  Our  fate  is  upon  us  !  "  howled  Walter.     "  Die  !  " 

Drawing  a  knife,  he  sustained  her,  as  she  was  sinking 
to  the  ground,  and  aimed  it  at  her  bosom.  In  the  action, 
and  in  the  look  and  attitude  of  each,  the  painter  beheld 
the  figures  of  his  sketch.  The  picture,  with  all  its  tre- 
mendous coloring,  was  finished. 

"  Hold,  madman !  "  cried  he,  sternly. 

He  had  advanced  from  the  door,  and  interposed  him- 
self between  the  wretched  beings,  with  the  same  sense 
of  power  to  regulate  their  destiny,  as  to  alter  a  scene 
upon  the  canvas.  He  stood  like  a  magician,  controlling 
the  phantoms  which  he  had  evoked. 

"  What ! "  muttered  Walter  Ludlow,  as  he  relapsed 
from  fierce  excitement  into  silent  gloom.  "  Does  Pate 
impede  its  own  decree  ?  " 

"  Wretched  lady  !  "  said  the  painter.  "  Did  I  not 
warn  you  ?  " 

"  You  did,"  replied  Elinor,  calmly,  as  her  terror  gave 
place  to  the  quiet  grief  which  it  had  disturbed.  "But 
—  I  loved  him  !  " 

Is  there  not  a  deep  moral  in  the  tale  ?  Could  the 
result  of  one,  or  all  our  deeds,  be  shadowed  forth  and 
set  before  us,  some  would  call  it  Fate,  and  hurry 
onward,  others  be  swept  along  by  their  passionate 
desires,  and  none  be  turned  aside  by  the  PROPHETIC 
PICTURES. 


DAVID  SWAN. 

A  FANTASY. 

|E  can  be  but  partially  acquainted  even  with  the 
events  which  actually  influence  our  course 
through  life,  and  our  final  destiny.  There  are 
innumerable  other  events  —  if  such  they  may  be  called 
—  which  come  close  upon  us,  yet  pass  away  without  ac- 
tual results,  or  even  betraying  their  near  approach,  by 
the  reflection  of  any  light  or  shadow  across  our  minds. 
Could  we  know  all  the  vicissitudes  of  our  fortunes,  life 
would  be  too  full  of  hope  and  fear,  exultation  or  disap- 
pointment, to  afford  us  a  single  hour  of  true  serenity. 
Tli  is  idea  may  be  illustrated  by  a  page  from  the  secret 
history  of  David  Swan. 

We  have  nothing  to  do  with  David  until  we  find  him, 
at  the  age  of  twenty,  on  the  high  road  from  his  native 
place  to  the  city  of  Boston,  where  his  uncle,  a  small 
dealer  in  the  grocery  line,  was  to  take  him  behind  the 
counter.  Be  it  enough  to  say,  that  he  was  a  native  of 
New  Hampshire,  born  of  respectable  parents,  and  had 
received  an  ordinary  school  education,  with  a  classic  fin- 
ish by  a  year  at  Gilmanton  Academy.  After  journeying 
on  foot,  from  sunrise  till  nearly  noon  of  a  summer's  day, 
his  weariness  and  the  increasing  heat  determined  him  to 


200  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

sit  down  in  the  first  convenient  shade,  and  await  the 
coming  up  of  the  stage-coach.  As  if  planted  on  purpose 
for  him,  there  soon  appeared  a  little  tuft  of  maples,  with 
a  delightful  recess  in  the  midst,  and  such  a  fresh  bub- 
bling spring,  that  it  seemed  never  to  have  sparkled 
for  any  wayfarer  but  David  Swan.  Virgin  or  not,  he 
kissed  it  with  his  thirsty  lips,  and  then  flung  himself 
along  the  brink,  pillowing  his  head  upon  some  shirts  and 
a  pair  of  pantaloons,  tied  up  in  a  striped  cotton  handker- 
chief. The  sunbeams  could  not  reach  him;  the  dust 
did  not  yet  rise  from  the  road,  after  the  heavy  rain 
of  yesterday ;  and  his  grassy  lair  suited  the  young 
man  better  than  a  bed  of  down.  The  spring  murmured 
drowsily  beside  him ;  the  branches  waved  dreamily 
across  the  blue  sky  overhead;  and  a  deep  sleep,  per- 
chance hiding  dreams  within  its  depths,  fell  upon  David 
Swan.  But  we  are  to  relate  events  which  he  did  not 
dream  of. 

While  he  lay  sound  asleep  in  the  shade,  other  people 
were  wide  awake,  and  passed  to  and  fro,  afoot,  on  horse- 
back, and  in  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  along  the  sunny  road 
by  his  bedchamber.  Some  looked  neither  to  the  right 
hand  nor  the  left,  and  knew  not  that  he  was  there  ;  some 
merely  glanced  that  way,  without  admitting  the  slumber- 
er  among  their  busy  thoughts  ;  some  laughed  to  see  how 
soundly  he  slept ;  and  several,  whose  hearts  were  brim- 
ming full  of  scorn,  ejected  their  venomous  superflu- 
ity on  David  Swan.  A  middle-aged  widow,  when  no- 
body else  was  near,  thrust  her  head  a  little  way  into  the 
recess,  and  vowed  that  the  young  fellow  looked  charm- 
ing in  his  sleep.  A  temperance  lecture,  saw  him,  and 
wrought  poor  David  into  the  texture  of  his  evening's 
discourse,  as  an  awful  instance  of  dead  drunkenness  by 
the  roadside.  But,  censure,  praise,  merriment,  scorn, 


DAVID    SWAN.  201 

and  indifference   were  all  one,  or  rather  all  nothing,  to 
David  Swan. 

He  had  slept  only  a  few  moments,  when  a  brown  car- 
riage, drawn  by  a  handsome  pair  of  horses,  bowled  easily 
along,  and  was  brought  to  a  stand-still  nearly  in  front  of 
David's  resting-place.  A  linchpin  had  fallen  out,  and  per- 
mitted one  of  the  wheels  to  slide  off.  The  damage  was 
slight,  and  occasioned  merely  a  momentary  alarm  to  an 
elderly  merchant  and  his  wife,  who  were  returning  to 
Boston  in  the  carriage.  While  the  coachman  and  a  ser- 
vant were  replacing  the  wheel,  the  lady  and  gentleman 
sheltered  themselves  beneath  the  maple-trees,  and  there 
espied  the  bubbling  fountain,  and  David  Swan  asleep 
beside  it.  Impressed  with  the  awe  which  the  humblest 
sleeper  usually  sheds  around  him,  the  merchant  trod  as 
lightly  as  the  gout  would  allow;  and  his  spouse  took 
good  heed  not  to  rustle  her  silk  gown,  lest  David  should 
start  up,  all  of  a  sudden. 

"  How  soundly  he  sleeps  !  "  whispered  the  old  gentle- 
man. "  From  what  a  depth  he  draws  that  easy  breath  ! 
Such  sleep  as  that,  brought  on  without  an  opiate,  would 
be  worth  more  to  me  than  half  my  income ;  for  it  would 
suppose  health,  and  an  untroubled  mind." 

"  And  youth,  besides,"  said  the  lady.  "  Healthy  and 
quiet  age  does  not  sleep  thus.  Our  slumber  is  no  more 
like  his,  than  our  wakefulness." 

The  longer  they  looked  the  more  did  this  elderly 
couple  feel  interested  in  the  unknown  youth,  to  whom 
the  wayside  and  the  maple  shade  were  as  a  secret  cham- 
ber, with  the  rich  gloom  of  damask  curtains  brooding 
over  him.  Perceiving  that  a  stray  sunbeam  glimmered 
down  upon  his  face,  the  lady  contrived  to  twist  a  branch 
aside,  so  as  to  intercept  it.  And  having  done  this  little 
act  of  kindness,  she  began  to  feel  like  a  mother  to  him. 
9* 


202  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  Providence  seems  to  have  laid  him  here,"  whispered 
she  to  her  husband,  "  and  to  have  brought  us  hither  to 
find  him,  after  our  disappointment  in  our  cousin's  son. 
Methinks  I  can  see  a  likeness  to  our  departed  Henry. 
Shall  we  waken  him  ?  " 

"  To  what  purpose  ?  "  said  the  merchant,  hesitating. 
"  We  know  nothing  of  the  youth's  character." 

"That  open  countenance!"  replied  his  wife,  in  the 
same  hushed  voice,  yet  earnestly.  "This  innocent 
sleep  1  " 

While  these  whispers  were  passing,  the  sleeper's  heart 
did  not  throb,  nor  his  breath  become  agitated,  nor  his 
features  betray  the  least  token  of  interest.  Yet  Fortune 
was  bending  over  him,  just  ready  to  let  fall  a  burden  of 
gold.  The  old  merchant  had  lost  his  only  son,  and  had 
no  heir  to  his  wealth,  except  a  distant  relative,  with 
whose  conduct  he  was  dissatisfied.  In  such  cases,  peo- 
ple sometimes  do  stranger  things  than  to  act  the  magi- 
cian, and  awaken  a  young  man  to  splendor,  who  fell 
asleep  in  poverty. 

"  Shall  we  not  waken  him  ? "  repeated  the  lady, 
persuasively. 

"  The  coach  is  ready,  sir,"  said  the  servant,  behind. 

The  old  couple  started,  reddened,  and  hurried  away, 
mutually  wondering  that  they  should  ever  have  dreamed 
of  doing  anything  so  very  ridiculous.  The  merchant 
threw  himself  back  in  the  carriage,  and  occupied  his 
mind  with  the  plan  of  a  magnificent  asylum  for  unfortu- 
nate men  of  business.  Meanwhile,  David  Swan  enjoyed 
his  nap. 

The  carriage  could  not  have  gone  above  a  mile  or  two, 
when  a  pretty  young  girl  came  along,  with  a  tripping 
pace,  which  showed  precisely  how  her  little  heart  was 
dancing  in  her  bosom.  Perhaps  it  was  this  merry  kind 


DAVID    SWAN.  203 

of  motion  that  caused  —  is  there  any  harm  in  saying  it  ? 
—  her  garter  to  slip  its  knot.  Conscious  that  the  silken 
girth  —  if  silk  it  were  —  was  relaxing  its  hold,  she 
turned  aside  into  the  shelter  of  the  maple-trees,  and 
there  found  a  young  man  asleep  by  the  spring  !  Blush- 
ing, as  red  as  any  rose,  that  she  should  have  intruded 
into  a  gentleman's  bedchamber,  and  for  such  a  purpose, 
too,  she  was  about  to  make  her  escape  on  tiptoe.  But 
there  was  peril  near  the  sleeper.  A  monster  of  a  bee 
had  been  wandering  overhead,  —  buzz,  buzz,  buzz,  — 
now  among  the  leaves,  now  flashing  through  the  strips 
of  sunshine,  and  now  lost  in  the  dark  shade,  till  finally 
he  appeared  to  be  settling  on  the  eyelid  of  David  Swan. 
The  sting  of  a  bee  is  sometimes  deadly.  As  free-hearted 
as  she  was  innocent,  the  girl  attacked  the  intruder  with 
her  handkerchief,  brushed  him  soundly,  and  drove  him 
from  beneath  the  maple  shade.  How  sweet  a  picture ! 
This  good  deed  accomplished,  with  quickened  breath, 
and  a  deeper  blush,  she  stole  a  glance  at  the  youthful 
stranger  for  whom  she  had  been  battling  with  a  dragon 
in  the  air. 

"  He  is  handsome  !  "  thought  she,  and  blushed  redder 
yet. 

How  could  it  be  that  no  dream  of  bliss  grew  so  strong 
within  him,  that,  shattered  by  its  very  strength,  it  should 
part  asunder,  and  allow  him  to  perceive  the  girl  among 
its  phantoms  ?  Why,  at  least,  did  no  smile  of  welcome 
brighten  upon  his  face  ?  She  was  come,  the  maid  whose 
soul,  according  to  the  old  and  beautiful  idea,  had  been 
severed  from  his  own,  and  whom,  iu  all  his  vague  but 
passionate  desires,  he  yearned  to  meet.  Her,  only,  could 
he  love  with  a  perfect  love,  —  him,  only,  could  she  re- 
ceive into  the  depths  of  her  heart,  —  and  now  her  image 
was  faintly  blushing  in  the  fountain,  by  his  side  ;  should 


204  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

it  pass  away,  its  happy  lustrp  would  never  gleam  upon 
his  life  again. 

"  How  sound  lie  sleeps  !  "  murmured  the  girl. 

She  departed,  but  did  not  trip  along  the  road  s<? 
lightly  as  when  she  came. 

Now,  this  girl's  father  was  a  thriving  country  mer- 
chant in  the  neighborhood,  and  happened,  at  that  iden- 
tical time,  to  be  looking  out  for  just  such  a  young  man 
as  David  Swan.  Had  David  formed  a  wayside  acquaint- 
ance with  the  daughter,  he  would  have  become  the 
father's  clerk,  and  all  else  in  natural  succession.  So 
here,  again,  had  good  fortune  —  the  best  of  fortunes  — 
stolen  so  near,  that  her  garments  brushed  against  him ; 
and  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter. 

The  girl  was  hardly  out  of  sight,  when  two  men 
turned  aside  beneath  the  maple  shade.  Both  had  dark 
faces,  set  off  by  cloth  caps,  which  were  drawn  down 
aslant  over  their  brows.  Their  dresses  were  shabby,  yet 
had  a  certain  smartness.  These  were  a  couple  of  ras- 
cals, who  got  their  living  by  whatever  the  Devil  sent 
them,  and  now,  in  the  interim  of  other  business,  had 
staked  the  joint  profits  of  their  next  piece  of  villany  on 
a  game  of  cards,  which  was  to  have  been  decided  here 
under  the  trees.  But,  finding  David  asleep  by  the 
spring,  one  of  the  rogues  whispered  to  his  fellow,  — 

"  Hist !  —  Do  you  see  that  bundle  under  his  head  ?  " 

The  other  villain  nodded,  winked,,  and  leered. 

"I  '11  bet  you  a  horn  of  brandy,"  said  the  first,  "  that 
the  chap  has  either  a  pocket-book,  or  a  snug  little  hoard 
of  small  change,  stowed  away  amongst  his  shirts.  And 
if  not  there,  we  shall  find  it  in  his  pantaloons-pocket." 

"  But  how  if  he  wakes  ?  "  said  the  other. 

His  companion  thrust  aside  his  waistcoat,  pointed  to 
the  handle  of  a  dirk,  and  nodded. 


DAVID    SWAN.  205 

"  So  be  it !  "  muttered  the  second  villain. 

They  approached  the  unconscious  David,  and,  while 
one  pointed  the  dagger  towards  his  heart,  the  other 
began  to  search  the  bundle  beneath  his  head.  Their 
two  faces,  grim,  wrinkled,  and  ghastly  with  guilt  and 
fear,  bent  over  their  victim,  looking  horrible  enough  to 
be  mistaken  for  fiends,  should  he  suddenly  awake.  Nay, 
had  the  villains  glanced  aside  into  the  spring,  even  they 
would  hardly  have  known  themselves,  as  reflected  there. 
But  David  Swan  had  never  worn  a  more  tranquil  aspect,. 
even  when  asleep  on  his  mother's  breast. 

"  I  must  take  away  the  bundle,"  whispered  one. 

"  If  he  stirs,  I  '11  strike,"  muttered  the  other. 

But,  at  this  moment,  a  dog,  scenting  along  the  ground, 
came  in  beneath  the  maple-trees,  and  gazed  alternately 
at  each  of  these  wicked  men,  and  then  at  the  quiet 
sleeper.  He  then  lapped  out  of  the  fountain. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  one  villain.  "  We  can  do  nothing 
now.  The  dog's  master  must  be  close  behind." 

"Let's  take  a  drink  and  be  off,"  said  the  other. 

The  man  with  the  dagger  thrust  back  the  weapon  into 
his  bosom,  and  drew  forth  a  pocket  pistol,  but  not  of  that 
kind  which  kills  by  a  single  discharge.  It  was  a  flask  of 
liquor,  with  a  block-tin  tumbler  screwed  upon  the  mouth. 
Each  drank  a  comfortable  dram,  and  left  the  spot,  with 
so  many  jests,  and  such  laughter  at  their  unaccomplished 
wickedness,  that  they  might  be  said  to  have  gone  on  their 
way  rejoicing.  In  a  few  hours,  they  had  forgotten  the 
whole  affair,  nor  once  imagined  that  the  recording  angel 
had  written  down  the  crime  of  murder  against  their  souls, 
in  letters  as  durable  as  eternity.  As  for  David  Swan,  he 
still  slept  quietly,  neither  conscious  of  the  shadow  of 
death  when  it  hung  over  him,  nor  of  the  glow  of  renewed 
life,  when  that  shadow  was  withdrawn. 


206  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

He  slept,  but  no  longer  so  quietly  as  at  first.  An 
hour's  repose  had  snatched,  from  his  elastic  frame,  the 
weariness  with  which  many  hours  of  toil  had  burdened  it. 
Now  he  stirred,  — now  moved  his  lips,  without  a  sound, 
• — now  talked,  in  an  inward  tone,  to  the  noonday  spec- 
tres of  his  dream.  But  a  noise  of  wheels  came  rattling 
louder  and  louder  along  the  road,  until  it  dashed  through 
the  dispersing  mist  of  David's  slumber,  —  and  there  was 
the  stage-coach.  He  started  up,  with  all  his  ideas  about 
him. 

"  Halloo,  driver !  —  Take  a  passenger  ?  "  shouted  he. 

"  Room  on  top  !  "  answered  the  driver. 

Up  mounted  David,  and  bowled  away  merrily  towards 
Boston,  without  so  much  as  a  parting  glance  at  that 
fountain  of  dreamlike  vicissitude.  He  knew  not  that  a 
phantom  of  Wealth  had  thrown  a  golden  hue  upon  its 
waters,  —  nor  that  one  of  Love  had  sighed  softly  to  their 
murmur,  —  nor  that  one  of  Death  had  threatened  to  crim- 
son them  with  his  blood,  —  all,  in  the  brief  hour  since  he 
lay  down  to  sleep.  Sleeping  or  waking,  we  hear  not  the 
airy  footsteps  of  the  strange  things  that  almost  happen. 
Does  it  not  argue  a  superintending  Providence,  that, 
while  viewless  and  unexpected  events  thrust  themselves 
continually  athwart  our  path,  there  should  still  be  regu- 
larity enough,  in  mortal  life,  to  render  foresight  even  par- 
tially available  ? 


SIGHTS  FROM  A  STEEPLE. 

[p^fVTjO  !  I  have  climbed  high,  and  my  reward  is  small. 
'  J*>l^  I  lore  I  staud,  with  wearied  knees,  earth,  indeed, 
jtAicJIkil  at  a  dizzy  depth  below,  but  heaven  far,  far  be- 
yond me  still.  O  that  I  could  soar  up  into  the  very 
zenith,  where  man  never  breathed,  nor  eagle  ever  flew, 
and  where  the  ethereal  azure  melts  away  from  the  eye, 
and  appears  only  a  deepened  shade  of  nothingness  !  And 
yet  I  shiver  at  that  cold  and  solitary  thought.  What 
douds  are  gathering  in  the  golden  west,  with  direful 
intent  against  the  brightness  and  the  warmth  of  this 
summer  afternoon  !  They  are  ponderous  air-ships,  black 
as  death,  and  freighted  with  the  tempest ;  and  at  intervals 
their  thunder,  the  signal-guns  of  that  unearthly  squadron, 
rolls  distant  along  the  deep  of  heaven.  These  nearer 
heaps  of  fleecy  vapor  —  methinks  I  could  roll  and  toss 
upon  them  the  whole  day  long !  —  seem  scattered  here 
and  there,  for  the  repose  of  tired  pilgrims  through  the 
sky.  Perhaps  —  for  who  can  tell  ?  —  beautiful  spirits 
are  disporting  themselves  there,  and  will  bless  my  mortal 
eye  with  the  brief  appearance  of  their  curly  locks  of 
golden  light,  and  laughing  faces,  fair  and  faint  as  the 
people  of  a  rosy  dream.  Or,  where  the  floating  mass  so 
imperfectly  obstructs  the  color  of  the  firmament,  a  slen- 
der foot  and  fairy  limb,  resting  too  heavily  upon  the  frail 


£08  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

support,  may  be  thrust  through,  and  suddenly  withdrawn, 
while  longing  fancy  follows  them  in  vain.  Yonder  again 
is  an  airy  archipelago,  where  the  sunbeams  love  to  linger 
in  their  journeyings  through  space.  Every  one  of  those 
little  clouds  has  been  dipped  and  steeped  in  radiance, 
which  the  slightest  pressure  might  disengage  in  silvery 
profusion,  like  water  wrung  from  a  sea-maid's  hair. 
Bright  they  are  as  a  young  man's  visions,  and,  like  them, 
would  be  realized  in  dullness,  obscurity,  and  tears.  I 
will  look  on  them  no  more. 

In  three  parts  of  the  visible  circle,  whose  centre  is 
this  spire,  I  discern  cultivated  fields,  villages,  white 
country-seats,  the  waving  lines  of  rivulets,  little  placid 
lakes,  and  here  and  there  a  rising  ground,  that  would 
fain  be  termed  a  hill.  On  the  fourth  side  is  the  sea, 
stretching  away  towards  a  viewless  boundary,  blue  and 
calm,  except  where  the  passing  anger  of  a  shadow  flits 
.across  its  surface,  and  is  gone.  Hitherward,  a  broad 
inlet  penetrates  far  into  the  land ;  on  the  verge  of  the 
harbor,  formed  by  its  extremity,  is  a  town ;  and  over  it 
•am  I,  a  watchman,  all-heeding  and  unheeded.  O  that 
the  multitude  of  chimneys  could  speak,  like  those  of 
Madrid,  and  betray,  in  smoky  whispers,  the  secrets  of 
all  who,  since  their  first  foundation,  have  assembled  at 
the  hearths  within  !  O  that  the  Limping  Devil  of  Le 
Sage  would  perch  beside  me  here,  extend  his  wand  over 
this  contiguity  of  roofs,  uncover  every  chamber,  and  make 
me  familiar  with  their  inhabitants  !  The  most  desirable 
mode  of  existence  might  be  that  of  a  spiritualized  Paul 
Pry  hovering  invisible  round  man  and  woman,  witnessing 
their  deeds,  searching  into  their  hearts,  borrowing  bright- 
ness from  their  felicity,  and  shade  from  their  sorrow,  and 
retaining  no  emotion  peculiar  to  himself.  But  none  of 
these  things  are  possible ;  and  if  I  would  know  the  inte- 


SIGHTS    FROM    A    STEEPLE.  209 

rior  of  brick  walls,  or  the  mystery  of  human  bosoms,  I 
can  but  guess. 

Yonder  is  a  fair  street,  extending  nortli  and  south.  The 
stately  mansions  are  placed  each  on  its  carpet  of  verdant 
grass,  and  a  long  flight  of  steps  descends  from  every  door 
to  the  pavement.  Ornamental  trees  —  the  broad-leafed 
horse-chesnut,  the  elm  so  lofty  and  bending,  the  graceful 
but  infrequent  •willow,  and  others  whereof  I  know  not 
the  names  —  grow  thrivingly  among  brick  and  stone.  The 
oblique  rays  of  the  sun  are  intercepted  by  these  green 
citizens,  and  by  the  houses,  so  that  one  side  of  the  street 
is  a  shaded  and  pleasant  walk.  On  its  whole  extent  there 
is  now  but  a  single  passenger,  advancing  from  the  up- 
per end;  and  he,  unless  distance  and  the  medium  of  a 
pocket  spyglass  do  him  more  than  justice,  is  a  fine  young 
man  of  twenty.  He  saunters  slowly  forward,  slapping 
his  left  hand  with  his  folded  gloves,  bending  his  eyes 
upon  the  pavement,  and  sometimes  raising  them  to  throw 
a  glance  before  him.  Certainly,  he  has  a  pensive  air. 
Is  he  in  doubt,  or  in  debt  ?  Is  he,  if  the  question  be 
allowable,  in  love  ?  Does  he  strive  to  be  melancholy 
and  gentlemanlike  ?  Or,  is  he  merely  overcome  by  the 
heat  ?  But  I  bid  him  farewell,  for  "the  present.  "  The 
door  of  one  of  the  houses  —  an  aristocratic  edifice,  with 
curtains  of  purple  and  gold  waving  from  the  windows  —  is 
now  opened,  and  down  the  steps  come  two  ladies,  swing- 
ing their  parasols,  and  lightly  arrayed  for  a  summer  ram- 
ble. Both  are  young,  both  are  pretty ;  but  methinks  the 
left-hand  lass  is  the  fairer  of  the  twain ;  and,  though  she 
be  so  serious  at  this  moment,  I  could  swear  that  then;  is 
a  treasure  of  gentle  fun  within  her.  They  stand  talking 
a  little  while  upon  the  steps,  and  finally  proceed  up  the 
street.  Meantime,  as  their  faces  are  now  turned  from 
me,  I  may  look  elsewhere. 

N 


210  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Upon  that  wharf,  and  down  the  corresponding  street, 
is  a  busy  contrast  to  the  quiet  scene  which  I  have  just 
noticed.  Business  evidently  has  its  centre  there,  and 
many  a  man  is  wasting  the  summer  afternoon  in  labor 
and  anxiety,  in  losing  riches,  or  in  gaining  them,  when 
he  would  be  wiser  to  flee  away  to  some  pleasant  country 
village,  or  shaded  lake  in  the  forest,  or  wild  and  cool  sea- 
beach.  I  see  vessels  unlading  at  the  wharf,  and  precious 
merchandise  strewn  upon  the  ground,  abundantly  as  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  that  market  whence  no  goods 
return,  and  where  there  is  no  captain  nor  supercargo  to 
render  an  account  of  sales.  Here,  the  clerks  are  diligent 
with  their  paper  and  pencils,  and  sailors  ply  the  block 
and  tackle  that  hang  over  the  hold,  accompanying  their 
toil  with  cries,  long  drawn  and  roughly  melodious,  till 
the  bales  and  puncheons  ascend  to  upper  air.  At  a  little 
distance,  a  group  of  gentlemen  are  assembled  round  the 
door  of  a  warehouse.  Grave  seniors  be  they,  and  I  would 
wager  —  if  it  were  safe,  in  these  times,  to  be  responsible 
for  any  one  —  that  the  least  eminent  among  them  might 
vie  with  old  Vicentio,  that  incomparable  trafficker  of 
Pisa.  I  can  even  select  the  wealthiest  of  the  company. 
It  is  the  elderly  personage,  in  somewhat  rusty  black,  with 
'powdered  hair,  the  superfluous  whiteness  of  which  is  vis- 
ible upon  the  cape  of  his  coat.  His  twenty  ships  are 
wafted  on  some  of  their  many  courses  by  every  breeze 
that  blows,  and  his  name  —  I  will  venture  to  say,  though 
I  know  it  not  —  is  a  familiar  sound  among  the  far-sepa- 
rated merchants  of  Europe  and  the  Indies. 

But  I  bestow  too  much  of  my  attention  in  this  quarter. 
On  looking  again  to  the  long  and  shady  walk,  I  perceive 
that  the  two  fair  girls  have  encountered  the  young  man. 
After  a  sort  of  shyness  in  the  recognition,  he  turns  back 
with  them.  Moreover,  he  has  sanctioned  my  taste  in 


SIGHTS    FROM   A   STEEPLE.  211 

regard  to  his  companions  by  placing  himself  on  the  inner 
side  of  the  pavement,  nearest  the  Venus  to  whom  I  — 
enacting,  on  a  steeple-top,  the  part  of  Paris  on  the  top  of 
Ida  —  adjudged  the  golden  apple. 

In  two  streets,  converging  at  right  angles  towards  my 
watchtower,  I  distinguish  three  different  processions. 
One  is  a  proud  array  of  voluntary  soldiers,  in  bright  uni- 
form, resembling,  from  the  height  whence  I  look  down, 
the  painted  veterans  that  garrison  the  windows  of  a  toy- 
shop. And  yet,  it  stirs  my  heart ;  their  regular  advance, 
their  nodding  plumes,  the  sunflash  on  their  bayonets  and 
musket-barrels,  the  roll  of  their  drums  ascending  past  me, 
and  the  fife  ever  and  anon  piercing  through,  —  these 
tilings  have  wakened  a  warlike  fire,  peaceful  though  I 
be.  Close  to  their  rear  marches  a  battalion  of  school- 
boys, ranged  in  crooked  and  irregular  platoons,  shoulder- 
ing sticks,  thumping  a  harsh  and  unripe  clatter  from  an 
instrument  of  tin,  and  ridiculously  aping  the  intricate 
manoeuvres  of  the  foremost  band.  Nevertheless,  as 
slight  differences  are  scarcely  perceptible  from  a  church- 
spire,  one -might  be  tempted  to  ask,  "Which  are  the 
boys  ?  "  or,  rather,  "  Which  the  men  ?  "  But,  leaving 
these,  let  us  turn  to  the  third  procession,  which,  though 
sadder  in  outward  show,  may  excite  identical  reflections 
in  the  thoughtful  mind.  It  is  a  funeral.  A  hearse, 
drawn  by  a  black  and  bony  steed,  and  covered  by  a  dusty 
pall ;  two  or  three  coaches  rumbling  over  the  stones,  their 
drivers  half  asleep  ;  a  dozen  couple  of  careless  mourners 
in  their  every-day  attire  ;  such  was  not  the  fashion  of  our 
fathers,  when  they  carried  a  friend  to  his  grave.  There  is 
now  no  doleful  clang  of  the  bell  to  proclaim  sorrow  to  the 
town.  Was  the  King  of  Terrors  more  awful  in  those  days 
than  in  our  own,  that  wisdom  and  philosophy  have  been 
able  to  produce  this  change  ?  Not  so.  Here  is  a  proof 


212  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

that  he  retains  his  proper  majesty.  The  military  men, 
and  the  military  boys,  are  wheeling  round  the  corner,  and 
meet  the  funeral  full  in  the  face.  Immediately  the  drum 
is  silent,  all  but  the  tap  that  regulates  each  simultaneous 
footfall.  The  soldiers  yield  the  path  to  the  dusty  hearse 
and  unpretending  train,  and  the  children  quit  their  ranks, 
and  cluster  on  the  sidewalks,  with  timorous  and  instinc- 
tive curiosity.  The  mourners  enter  the  churchyard  at 
the  base  of  the  steeple,  and  pause  by  an  open  grave 
among  the  burial-stones ;  the  lightning  glimmers  on  them 
as  they  lower  down  the  coffin,  and  the  thunder  rattles 
heavily  while  they  throw  the  earth  upon  its  lid.  Verily, 
the  shower  is  near,  and  I  tremble  for  the  young  man  and 
the  girls,  who  have  now  disappeared  from  the  long  and 
shady  street. 

How  various  are  the  situations  of  the  people  covered 
by  the  roofs  beneath  me,  and  how  diversified  are  the 
events  at  this  moment  befalling  them !  The  new-born, 
the  aged,  the  dying,  the  strong  in  life,  and  the  recent 
dead  are  in  the  chambers  of  these  many  mansions.  The 
full  of  hope,  the  happy,  the  miserable,  and  tfie  desperate 
dwell  together  within  the  circle  of  my  glance.  In  some 
of  the  houses  over  which  my  eyes  roam  so  coldly,  guilt 
is  entering  into  hearts  that  are  still  tenanted  by  a  debased 
and  trodden  virtue,  —  guilt  is  on  the  very  edge  of  com- 
mission, and  the  impending  deed  might  be  averted ;  guilt 
is  done,  and  the  criminal  wonders  if  it  be  irrevocable. 
There  are  broad  thoughts  struggling  in  my  mind,  and, 
were  I  able  to  give  them  distinctness,  they  would  make 
their  way  in  eloquence.  Lo !  the  raindrops  are  descending. 

The  clouds,  within  a  little  time,  have  gathered  over  all 
the  sky,  hanging  heavily,  as  if  about  to  drop  in  one  un- 
broken mass  upon  the  earth.  At  intervals,  the  lightning 
flashes  from  their  brooding  hearts,  quivers,  disappears, 


SIGHTS   PROM   A   STEEPLE.  213 

and  then  comes  the  thunder,  travelling  slowly  after  its 
twin-born  flame.  A  strong  wind  has  sprang  up,  howls 
through  the  darkened  streets,  and  raises  the  dust  in 
dense  bodies,  to  rebel  against  the  approaching  storm. 
The  disbanded  soldiers  fly,  the  funeral  has  already  van- 
ished like  its  dead,  and  all  people  hurry  homeward,  — 
all  that  have  a  home ;  while  a  few  lounge  by  the  corners, 
or  trudge  on  desperately,  at  their  leisure.  In  a  narrow 
lane,  which  communicates  with  the  shady  street,  I  dis- 
cern the  rich  old  merchant,  putting  himself  to  the  top  of 
his  speed,  lest  the  rain  should  convert  his  hair-powder 
to  a  paste.  Unhappy  gentleman !  By  the  slow  vehe- 
mence, and  painful  moderation  wherewith  he  journeys, 
it  is  but  too  evident  that  Podagra  has  left  its  thrilling 
tenderness  in  his  great  toe.  But  yonder,  at  a  far  more 
rapid  pace,  come  three  other  of  my  acquaintance,  the 
two  pretty  girls  and  the  young  man,  unseasonably  inter- 
rupted in  their  walk.  f  Their  footsteps  are  supported  by 
the  risen  dust,  —  the  wind  lends  them  its  velocity,  — 
they  fly  like  three  sea-birds  driven  landward  by  the 
tempestuous  breeze.  The  ladies  would  not  thus  rival 
Atalanta  if  they  but  knew  that  any  one  were  at  leisure 
to  observe  them.  Ah  !  as  they  hasten  onward,  laughing 
in  the  angry  face  of  nature,  a  sudden  catasti-ophe  has 
chanced.  At  the  corner  where  the  narrow  lane  enters 
into  the  street,  they  come  plump  against  the  old  mer- 
chant, whose  tortoise  motion  has  just  brought  him  to 
that  point.  He  likes  not  the  sweet  encounter ;  the  dark- 
ness of  the  whole  air  gathers  speedily  upon  his  visage, 
and  there  is  a  pause  on  both  sides.  Finally,  he  thrusts 
aside  the  youth  with  little  courtesy,  seizes  an  arm  of 
each  of  the  two  girls,  and  plods  onward,  like  a  magician 
with  a  prize  of  captive  fairies.  All  this  is  easy  to  be 
understood.  How  disconsolate  the  poor  lover  stands  1 


214  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

regardless  of  the  rain  that  threatens  an  exceeding  damage 
to  his  well-fashioned  habiliments,  till  he  catches  a  back, 
ward  glance  of  mirth  from  a  bright  eye,  and  turns  away 
with  whatever  comfort  it  conveys. 

The  old  man  and  his  daughters  are  safely  housed,  and 
now  the  storm  lets  loose  its  fury.  In  every  dwelling  I 
perceive  the  faces  of  the  chambermaids  as  they  shut 
down  the  windows,  excluding  the  impetuous  shower,  and 
shrinking  away  from  the  quick  fiery  glare.  The  large 
drops  descend  with  force  upon,  the  slated  roofs,  and 
rise  again  in  smoke.  There  is  a  rush  and  roar,  as  of  a 
river  through  the  air,  and  muddy  streams  bubble  majes- 
tically along  the  pavement,  whirl  their  dusky  foam  into 
the  kennel,  and  disappear  beneath  iron  grates.  Thus 
did  Arethusa  sink.  I  love  not  my  station  here  aloft,  in 
the  midst  of  the  tumult  which  I  am  powerless  to  direct 
or  quell,  with  the  blue  lightning  wrinkling  on  my  brow, 
and  the  thunder  muttering  its  first  awful  syllables  in  my 
ear.  I  will  descend.  Yet  let  me  "give  another  glance  to 
the  sea,  where  the  foam  breaks  out  in  long  white  lines 
upon  a  broad  expanse  of  blackness,  or  boils  up  in  far- 
distant  points,  like  snowy  mountain-tops  in  the  eddies  of 
a  flood ;  and  let  me  look  once  more  at  the  green  plain, 
and  little  hills  of  the  country,  over  which  the  giant  of  the 
storm  is  striding  in  robes  of  mist,  and  at  the  town,  whose 
obscured  and  desolate  streets  might  beseem  a  city  of  the 
dead;  and  turning  a  single  moment  to  the  sky,  now 
gloomy  as  an  author's  prospects,  I  prepare  to  resume  my 
station  on  lower  earth.  But  stay !  A  little  speck  of 
azure  has  widened  in  the  western  heavens ;  the  sun- 
beams find  a  passage,  and  go  rejoicing  through  the  tem- 
pest ;  and  on  yonder  darkest  cloud,  born,  like  hallowed 
hopes,  of  the  glory  of  another  world,  and  the  trouble  and 
tears  of  this,  brightens  forth  the  Rainbow ! 


THE  HOLLOW  OF  THE  THREE  HILLS. 

IN  those  strange  old  times,  when  fantastic  dreams 
and  madmen's  reveries  were  realized  among  the 
actual  circumstances  of  life,  two  persons  met 
together  at  an  appointed  hour  and  place.  One  was  a  lady, 
graceful  in  form  and  fair  of  feature,  though  pale  and 
troubled,  and  smitten  with  an  untimely  blight  in  what 
should  have  been  the  fullest  bloom  of  her  years ;  the 
other  was  an  ancient  and  meanly  dressed  woman,  of  ill- 
favored  aspect,  and  so  withered,  shrunken,  and  decrepit, 
that  even  the  space  since  she  began  to  decay  must  have 
exceeded  the  ordinary  term  of  human  existence.  In  the 
spot  where  they  encountered,  no  mortal  could  observe 
them.  Three  little  hills  stood  near  each  other,  and  down 
in  the  midst  of  them  sunk  a  hollow  basin,  almost  mathe- 
matically circular,  two  or  three  hundred  feet  in  breadth, 
and  of  such  depth  that  a  stately  cedar  might  but  just 
be  visible  above  the  sides.  Dwarf  pines  were  numerous 
upon  the  hills,  and  partly  fringed  the  outer  verge  of  the 
intermediate  hollow ;  within  which  there  was  nothing  but 
the  brown  grass  of  October,  and  here  and  there  a  tree- 
trunk,  that  had  fallen  long  ago,  and  lay  mouldering  with 
no  green  successor  from  its  roots.  One  of  these  masses 
of  decaying  wood,  formerly  a  majestic  oak,  rested  close 
beside  a  pool  of  green  and  sluggish  water  at  the  bottom 


2.16  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  the  basin.  Such  scenes  as  this  (so  gray  tradition  tells) 
were  once  the  resort  of  the  Power  of  Evil  and  his  plighted 
subjects ;  and  here,  at  midnight  or  on  the  dim  verge  of 
evening,  they  were  said  to  stand  round  the  mantling  pool, 
disturbing  its  putrid  waters  in  the  performance  of  an  im- 
pious baptismal  rite.  The  chill  beauty  of  an  autumnal 
sunset  was  now  gilding  the  three  hill-tops,  whence  a  paler 
tint  stole  down  their  sides  into  the  hollow. 

"  Here  is  our  pleasant  meeting  come  to  pass,"  said  the 
aged  crone,  "  according  as  thou  hast  desired.  Say  quickly 
what  thou  wouldst  have  of  me,  for  there  is  but  a  short 
hour  that  we  may  tarry  here." 

As  the  old  withered  woman  spoke,  a  smile  glimmered 
on  her  countenance,  like  lamplight  on  the  wall  of  a  sepul- 
chre. The  lady  trembled,  and  cast  her  eyes  upward  to 
the  verge  of  the  basin,  as  if  meditating  to  return  with  her 
purpose  unaccomplished.  But  it  was  not  so  ordained. 

"  I  arn  a  stranger  in  this  land,  as  you  know,"  said  she, 
at  length.  "  Whence  I  come  it  matters  not ;  but  I  have 
left  those  behind  me  with  whom  my  fate  was  intimately 
bound,  and  from  whom  I  am  cut  off  forever.  There  is  a 
weight  in  my  bosom  that  I  cannot  away  with,  and  I  have 
come  hither  to  inquire  of  their  welfare." 

"  And  who  is  there  by  this  green  pool,  that  can  bring 
thee  news  from  the  ends  of  the  earth?"  cried  the  old 
woman,  peering  into  the  lady's  face.  "  Not  from  my  lips 
mayst  thou  hear  these  tidings ;  yet,  be  thou  bold,  and  the 
daylight  shall  not  pass  away  from  yonder  hill-top,  before 
thy  wish  be  granted." 

"  I  will  do  your  bidding  though  I  die,"  replied  the  lady, 
desperately. 

The  old  woman  seated  herself  on  the  trunk  of  the  fallen 
tree,  threw  aside  the  hood  that  shrouded  her  gray  locks, 
and  beckoned  her  companion  to  draw  near. 


THE    HOLLOW    OF   THE    THREE    HILLS.       217 

**  Kneel  down,"  she  said,  "  and  lay  your  forehead  on 
*iy  knees." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  but  the  anxiety  that  had  long 
been  kindling  burned  fiercely  up  within  her.  As  she 
knelt  down,  the  border  of  her  garment  was  dipped  into 
the  pool ;  she  laid  her  forehead  on  the  old  woman's  knees, 
and  the  latter  drew  a  cloak  about  the  lady's  face,  so  That 
she  was  in  darkness.  Then  she  heard  the  muttered  words 
of  prayer,  in  the  midst  of  which  she  started,  and  would 
have  arisen. 

"  Let  me  flee,  —  let  me  flee  and  hide  myself,  that  they 
may  not  look  upon  me  !  "  she  cried.  But,  with  returning 
.recollection,  she  hushed  herself,  and  was  still  as  death. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  other  voices  —  familiar  in  infancy, 
and  unforgotten  through  many  wanderings,  and  in  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  her  heart  and  fortune  —  were  mingling 
with  the  accents  of  the  prayer.  At  first  the  words  were 
faint  and  indistinct,  not  rendered  so  by  distance,  but 
rather  resembling  the  dim  pages  of  a  book  which  we 
strive  to  read  by  an  imperfect  and  gradually  brightening 
light.  In  sucli  a  manner,  as  the  prayer  proceeded,  did 
those  voices  strengthen  upon  the  ear ;  till  at  length  the 
petition  ended,  and  the  conversation  of  an  aged  man,  and 
of  a  woman  broken  and  decayed  like  himself,  became 
distinctly  audible  to  the  lady  as  she  knelt.  But  those 
strangers  appeared  not  to  stand  in  the  hollow  depth  be- 
tween the  three  hills.  Their  voices  were  encompassed 
and  re-echoed  by  the  walls  of  a  chamber,  the  windows  of 
which  were  rattling  in  the  breeze ;  the  regular  vibration 
of  a  clock,  the  crackling  of  a  fire,  and  the  tinkling  of  the 
embers  as  they  fell  among  the  ashes,  rendered  the  scene 
almost  as  vivid  as  if  painted  to  the  eye.  By  a  melancholy 
hearth  sat  these  two  old  people,  the  man  calmly  despond- 
ent, the  woman  querulous,  and  tearful,  and  their  words 

VOL.  I.  10 


218  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

were  all  of  sorrow.  They  spoke  of  a  daughter,  a  wanderer 
they  knew  not  where,  bearing  dishonor  along  with  her,  and 
leaving  shame  and  affliction  to  bring  their  gray  heads  to 
the  grave.  They  alluded  also  to  other  and  more  recent 
woe,  but  in  the  midst  of  their  talk,  their  voices  seemed 
to  melt  into  the  sound  of  the  wind  sweeping  mournfully 
arnmig  the  autumn  leaves  ;  and  when  the  lady  lifted  her 
eyes,  there  was  she  kneeling  in  the  hollow  between  three 
hills. 

"  A  weary  and  lonesome  time  yonder  old  couple  have 
of  it,"  remarked  the  old  woman,  smiling  in  the  lady's  face. 

"  And  did  you  also  hear  them  ?  "  exclaimed  she,  a  sense 
of  intolerable  humiliation  triumphing  over  her  agony  and 
fear. 

"Yea;  and  we  have  yet  more  to  hear,"  replied  the  old 
woman.  "  Wherefore,  cover  thy  face  quickly." 

Again  the  withered  hag  poured  forth  the  monotonous 
words  of  a  prayer  that  was  not  meant  to  be  acceptable  in 
Heaven;  and  soon,  in  the  pauses  of  her  breath,  strange 
murmurings  began  to  thicken,  gradually  increasing  so  as 
to  drown  and  overpower  the  charm  by  which  they  grew. 
Shrieks  pierced  through  the  obscurity  of  sound,  and  were 
succeeded  by  the  singing  of  sweet  female  voices,  which  in 
their  turn  gave  way  to  a  wild  roar  of  laughter,  broken 
suddenly  by  groanings  and  sobs,  forming  altogether  a 
ghastly  confusion  of  terror  and  mourning  and  mirth. 
Chains  were  rattling,  fierce  and  stern  voices  uttered 
threats,  and  the  scourge  resounded  at  their  command. 
All  these  noises  deepened  and  became  substantial  to  the 
listener's  ear,  till  she  could  distinguish  every  soft  and 
dreamy  accent  of  the  love-songs,  that  died  causelessly 
into  funeral  hymns.  She  shuddered  at  the  unprovoked 
Wrath  which  blazed  up  like  the  spontaneous  kindling  of 
flame,  and  she  grew  faint  at  the  fearful  merriment,  raging 


THE  HOLLOW  OP  THE  THREE  HILLS.   219 

miserably  around  her.  In  the  midst  of  this  wild  scene, 
where  unbound  passions  jostled  each  other  in  a  drunken 
career,  there  was  one  solemn  voice  of  a  man,  and  a  manly 
and  melodious  voice  it  might  once  have  been.  He  went 
to  and  fro  continually,  and  his  feet  sounded  upon  the 
floor.  In  each  member  of  that  frenzied  company,  whose 
own  burning  thoughts  had  become  their  exclusive  world, 
he  sought  an  auditor  for  the  story  of  his  individual  wrong, 
and  interpreted  their  laughter  and  tears  as  his  reward  of 
scorn  or  pity.  He  spoke  of  woman's  perfidy,  of  a  wife 
who  had  broken  her  holiest  vows,  of  a  home  and  heart 
made  desolate.  Even  as  he  went  on,  the  shout,  the  laugh, 
the  shriek,  the  sob,  rose  up  in  unison,  till  they  changed 
into  the  hollow,  fitful,  and  uneven  sound  of  the  wind,  as 
it  fought  among  the  pine-trees  on  those  three  lonely  hills. 
The  lady  looked  up,  and  there  was  the  withered  woman 
smiling  in  her  face. 

"Couldst  thou  have  thought  there  were  such  merry 
times  in  a  madhouse  ?  "  inquired  the  latter. 

"True,  true,"  said  the  lady  to  herself;  "there  is  mirth 
within  its  walls,  but  misery,  misery  without." 

"  Wouldst  thou  hear  more  ?  "  demanded  the  old  wo- 
man. 

"There  is  one  other  voice  I  would  faiu  listen  to 
again,"  replied  the  lady,  faintly. 

"  Then,  lay  down  thy  head  speedily  upon  my  knees, 
that  thou  mayst  get  thee  hence  before  the  hour  be  past." 

The  golden  skirts  of  day  were  yet  lingering  upon  the 
hills,  but  deep  shades  obscured  the  hollow  and  the  pool, 
as  if  sombre  night  were  rising  thence  to  overspread  the 
world.  Again  that  evil  woman  began  -to  weave  her  spell. 
Long  did  it  proceed  unanswered,  till  the  knolling  of  a 
bell  stole  in  among  the  intervals  of  her  words,  likj;  a 
clang  that  had  travelled  far  over  valley  and  rising 


220  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ground,  and  was  just  ready  to  die  in  the  air.  The 
lady  shook  upon  her  companion's  knees,  as  she  heard 
that  boding  sound.  Stronger  it  grew  and  sadder,  and 
deepened  into  the  tone  of  a  death-bell,  knolling  dolefully 
from  some  ivy-mantled  tower,  and  bearing  tidings  of 
mortality  and  woe  to  the  cottage,  to  the  hall,  and  to 
the  solitary  wayfarer,  that  all  might  weep  for  the  doom 
appointed  in  turn  to  them.  Then  came  a  measured 
tread,  passing  slowly,  slowly  on,  as  of  mourners  with  a 
coffin,  their  garments  trailing  on  the  ground,  so  that  the 
ear  could  measure  the  length  of  their  melancholy  array. 
Before  them  went  the  priest,  reading  the  burial-service, 
while  the  leaves  of  his  book  were  rustling  in  the  breeze. 
And  though  no  voice  but  his  was  heard  to  speak  aloud, 
still  there  were  revilings  and  anathemas,  whispered  but 
distinct,  from  women  and  from  men,  breathed  against 
the  daughter  who  had  wrung  the  aged  hearts  of  her 
parents,  —  the  wife  who  had  betrayed  the  trusting  fond- 
ness of  her  husband,  —  the  mother  who  had  sinned  against 
natural  affection,  and  left  her  child  to  die.  The  sweeping 
sound  of  the  funeral  train  faded  away  like  a  thin  vapor, 
and  the  wind,  that  just  before  had  seemed  to  shake  the 
coffin  pall,  moaned  sadly  round  the  verge  of  the  Hollow 
between  three  Hills.  But  when  the  old  woman  stirred' 
the  kneeling  lady,  she  lifted  not  her  head. 

"  Here  has  been  a  sweet  hour's  sport ! "  said  the  with- 
ered crone,  chuckling  to  herself. 


THE  TOLL-GATHERER'S  DAY. 

A  SKETCH  OF  TRANSITORY  LIFE. 


JETHINKS,  for  a  person  whose  instinct  bids  him 
rather  to  pore  over  the  current  of  life,  than  to 
plunge  into  its  tumultuous  waves,  no  undesir- 
able retreat  were  a  toll-house  beside  some  thronged  thor- 
oughfare of  the  land.  In  youth,  perhaps,  it  is  good  for 
the  observer  to  run  about  the  earth,  —  to  leave  the  track 
of  his  footsteps  far  and  wide,  —  to  mingle  himself  with 
the  action  of  numberless  vicissitudes,  —  and,  finally,  in 
some  calm  solitude,  to  feed  a  musing  spirit  on  all  that 
he  has  seen  and  felt.  But  there  are  natures  too  indolent, 
or  too  sensitive,  to  endure  the  dust,  the  sunshine,  or  the 
rain,  the  turmoil  of  moral  and  physical  elements,  to  which 
all  the  wayfarers  of  the  world  expose  themselves.  For 
such  a  man,  how  pleasant  a  miracle,  could  life  be  made 
to  roll  its  variegated  length  by  the  threshold  of  his  own 
hermitage,  and  the  great  globe,  as  it  were,  perform  its 
revolutions  and  shift  its  thousand  scenes  before  his  eyes 
without  whirling  him  onward  in  its  course.  If  any  mor- 
tal be  favored  with  a  lot  analogous  to  this,  it  is  Itio 
toll-gatherer.  So,  at  least,  have  I  often  fancied,  while 
lounging  on  a  bench  at  the  door  of  a  small  square  edifice, 


222  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

which  stands  between  shore  and  shore  in  the  midst  of 
a  long  bridge.  Beneath  the  timbers  ebbs  and  flows  an 
arm  of  the  sea ;  while  above,  like  the  life-blood  through 
a  great  artery,  the  travel  of  the  north  and  east  is  con- 
tinually throbbing.  Sitting  on  the  aforesaid  bench,  I 
amuse  myself  with  a  conception,  illustrated  by  numerous 
pencil-sketches  in  the  air,  of  the  toll-gatherer's  day. 

In  the  morning  —  dim,  gray,  dewy  summer's  morn  — 
the  distant  roll  of  ponderous  wheels  begins  to  mingle 
with  my  old  friend's  slumbers,  creaking  more  and  more 
harshly  through  the  midst  of  his  dream,  and  gradually 
replacing  it  with  realities.  Hardly  conscious  of  the 
change  from  sleep  to  wakefulness,  he  finds  himself 
partly  clad  and  throwing  wide  the  toll-gates  for  the 
passage  of  a  fragrant  load  of  hay.  The  timbers  groan 
beneath  the  slow-revolving  wheels;  one  sturdy  yeoman 
stalks  beside  the  oxen,  and,  peering  from  the  summit  of 
the  hay,  by  the  glimmer  of  the  half-extinguished  lantern 
over  the  toll-house,  is  seen  the  drowsy  visage  of  his  com, 
rade,  who  has  enjoyed  a  nap  some  ten  miles  long.  The 
toll  is  paid,  —  creak,  creak,  again  go  the  wheels,  and  the 
huge  haymow  vanishes  into  the  morning  mist.  As  yet, 
nature  is  but  half  awake,  and  familiar  objects  appear 
visionary.  But  yonder,  dashing  from  the  shore  with  a 
rattling  thunder  of  the  wheels  and  a  confused  clatter  of 
hoofs,  comes  the  never-tiring  mail,  which  has  hurried 
onward  at  the  same  headlong,  restless  rate,  all  through 
the  quiet  night.  The  bridge  resounds  in  one  continued 
peal  as  the  coach  rolls  on  without  a  pause,  merely  afford- 
ing the  toll -gatherer  a  glimpse  at  the  sleepy  passengers, 
who  now  bestir  their  torpid  limbs,  and  snuff  a  cordial 
in  the  briny  air.  The  morn  breathes  upon  them  and 
blushes,  and  they  forget  how  wearily  the  darkness  toiled 
away.  And  behold  now  the  fervid  day,  in  his  bright 


THE    TOLL- GATHERER'S    DAY.  223 

chariot,  glittering  aslant  over  the  waves,  nor  scorning 
to  throw  a  tribute  of  his  golden  beams  on  the  toll-gath- 
erer's little  hermitage.  The.  old  man  looks  eastward, 
and  (for  he  is  a  moralizer)  frames  a  simile  of  the  stage- 
coach and  the  sun. 

While  the  world  is  rousing  itself,  we  may  glance 
slightly  at  the  scene  of  our  sketch.  It  sits  above  the 
bosom  of  the  broad  flood,  a  spot  not  of  earth,  but  in 
the  midst  of  waters,  which  rush  with  a  murmuring  sound 
among  the  massive  beams  beneath.  Over  the  door  is  a 
weather-beaten  board,  inscribed  with  the  rates  of  toll, 
in  letters  so  nearly  effaced  that  the  gilding  of  the  sun- 
shine can  hardly  make  them  legible.  Beneath  the  win- 
dow is  a  wooden  bench,  on  which  a  long  succession  of 
weary  wayfarers  have  reposed  themselves.  Peeping  with- 
in doors,  we  perceive  the  whitewashed  walls  bedecked 
with  sundry  lithographic  prints  and  advertisements  of 
various  import,  and  the  immense  showbill  of  a  wander- 
ing caravan.  And  there  sits  our  good  old  toll-gatherer, 
glorified  by  the  early  t sunbeams.  He  is  a  man,  as  his 
aspect  may  announce,  of  quiet  soul,  and  thoughtful, 
shrewd,  yet  simple  mind,  who,  of  the  wisdom  which 
the  passing  world  scatters  along  the  wayside,  has  gath- 
ered a  reasonable  store. 

Now  the  sun  smiles  upon  the  landscape,  and  earth 
smiles  back  again  upon  the  sky.  Frequent,  now,  are  the 
travellers.  The  toll-gatherer's  practised  ear  can  distin- 
guish the  weight  of  every  vehicle,  the  number  of  its 
wheels,  and  how  many  horses  beat  the  resounding  tim- 
bers with  their  iron  tramp.  Here,  in  a  substantial  fam- 
ily chaise,  setting  forth  betimes  to  take  advantage  of  the 
dewy  road,  come  a  gentleman  and  his  wife,  with  their 
rosy-cheeked  little  girl  sitting  gladsomely  between  them. 
The  bottom  of  the  chaise  is  heaped  with  multifarious 


224  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

bandboxes  and  carpet-bags,  and  beneath  the  axle  swings 
a  leathern  trunk  dusty  with  yesterday's  journey.  Next 
appears  a  four-wheeled  carryall,  peopled  with  a  round 
half-dozen  of  pretty  girls,  all  drawn  by  a  single  horse, 
and  driven  by  a  single  gentleman.  Luckless  wight, 
doomed,  through  a  whole  summer  day,  to  be  the  butt  of 
mirth  and  mischief  among  the  frolicsome  maidens  !  Bolt 
upright  in  a  sulky  rides  a  thin,  sour-visaged  man,  who, 
as  he  pays  his  toll,  hands  the  toll-gatherer  a  printed 
card  to  stick  upon  the  wall.  The  vinegar-faced  traveller 
proves  to  be  a  manufacturer  of  pickles.  Now  paces 
slowly  from  timber  to  timber  a  horseman  clad  in  black, 
with  a  meditative  brow,  as  of  one  who,  whithersoever  his 
steed  might  bear  him,  would  still  journey  through  a  mist 
of  brooding  thought.  He  is  a  country  preacher,  going- 
to  labor  at  a  protracted  meeting.  The  next  object  pass- 
ing townward  is  a  butcher's  cart,  canopied  with  its  arch 
of  snow-white  cotton.  Behind  comes  a  "sauceman,"' 
driving  a  wagon  full  of  new  potatoes,  green  ears  of  corn, 
beets,  carrots,  turnips,  and  summer-squashes ;  and  next, 
two  wrinkled,  withered,  witch-looking  old  gossips,  in  an 
antediluvian  chaise,  drawn  by  a  horse  of  former  genera- 
tions, and  going  to  peddle  out  a  lot  of  huckleberries. 
See  there,  a  man  trundling  a  wheelbarrow-load  of  lob- 
sters. And  now  a  milk-cart  rattles  briskly  onward,  cov- 
ered with  green  canvas,  and  conveying  the  contributions 
of  a  whole  herd  of  cows,  in  large  tin  canisters.  But  let 
all  these  pay  their  toll  and  pass.  Here  comes  a  specta- 
cle that  causes  the  old  toll-gatherer  to  smile  benignantly, 
as  if  the  travellers  brought  sunshine  with  them  and  lav- 
ished its  gladsome  influence  all  along  the  road. 

It  is  a  barouche  of  the  newest  style,  the  varnished 
panels  of  which  reflect  the  whole  moving  panorama  of 
the  landscape,  and  show  a  picture,  likewise,  of  our 


THE    TOLL-GATHERER'S    DAY.  225 

friend,  with  his  visage  broadened,  so  that  his  meditative 
smile  is  transformed  to  grotesque  merriment.  Within, 
sits  a  youth,  fresh  as  the  summer  ^morn,  and  beside  him 
a  young  lady  in  white,  with  white  gloves  upon  her  slen- 
der hands,  and  a  white  veil  flowing  down  over  her  face. 
But  methinks  her  blushing  cheek  burns  through  the 
snowy  veil.  Another  white-robed  virgin  sits  in  front. 
And  who  are  these,  on  whom,  and  on  all  that  appertains 
to  them,  the  dust  of  earth  seems  never  to  have  settled  ? 
Two  lovers,  whom  the  priest  has  blessed,  this  blessed 
morn,  and  sent  them  forth,  with  one  of  the  bridemaids, 
on  the  matrimonial  tour.  Take  my  blessing  too,  ye 
happy  ones !  May  the  sky  not  frown  upon  you,  nor 
clouds  bedew  you  with  their  chill  and  sullen  rain !  May 
the  hot  sun  kindle  no  fever  in  your  hearts  !  May  your 
whole  life's  pilgrimage  be  as  blissful  as  this  first  day's 
journey,  and  its  close  be  gladdened  with  even  brighter 
anticipations  than  those  which  hallow  your  bridal  night ! 

They  pass ;  and  ere  the  reflection  of  their  joy  lias  faded 
from  his  face,  another  spectacle  throws  a  melancholy 
shadow  over  the  spirit  of  the  observing  man.  In  a  close 
carriage  sits  a  fragile  figure,  muffled  carefully,  and  shrink- 
ing even  from  the  mild  breath  of  summer.  She  leans 
against  a  manly  form,  and  his  arm  infolds  her,  as  if  to 
guard  his  treasure  from  some  enemy.  Let  but  a  few 
weeks  pass,  and  when  lie  shall  strive  to  embrace  that 
loved  one,  he  will  press  only  desolation  to  his  heart ! 

And  now  has  morning  gathered  up  her  dewy  pearls, 
and  fled  away.  The  sun  rolls  blazing  through  the  sky, 
and  cannot  find  a  cloud  to  cool  his  face  with.  The 
horses  toil  sluggishly  along  the  bridge,  and  heave  their 
glistening  sides  in  short  quiek  pantings,  when  the  reins 
are  tightened  at  the  toll-house.  Glisten,  too,  the  faces 
of  the  travellers.  Their  garments  are  thickly  bestrewn 
10*  o 


226  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

with  dust ;  their  whiskers  and  hair  look  hoary ;  their 
throats  are  choked  with  the  dusty  atmosphere  which 
they  have  left  belaud  Jhem.  No  air  is  stirring  on  the 
road.  Nature  dares  draw  no  breath,  lest  she  should  in- 
hale a  stifling  cloud  of  dust.  "  A  hot  and  dusty  day  !  " 
cry  the  poor  pilgrims,  as  they  wipe  their  begrimed  fore- 
heads, and  woo  the  doubtful  breeze  which  the  river  bears 
along  with  it.  "Awful  hot!  Dreadful  dusty!"  an- 
swers the  sympathetic  toll-gatherer.  They  start  again, 
to  pass  through  the  fiery  furnace,  while  he  re-enters  his 
cool  hermitage,  and  besprinkles  it  with  a  pail  of  briny 
water  from  the  stream  beneath.  He  thinks  within  him- 
self, that  the  sun  is  not  so  fierce  here  as  elsewhere,  and 
that  the  gentle  air  does  not  forget  him  in  these  sultry 
days.  Yes,  old  friend;  and  a  quiet  heart  will  make  a 
dog-day  temperate.  He  hears  a  weary  footstep,  and  per- 
ceives a  traveller  with  pack  and  staff,  who  sits  down 
upon  the  hospitable  bench,  and  removes  the  hat  from  his 
wet  brow.  The  toll-gatherer  administers  a  cup  of  cold 
water,  and  discovering  his  guest  to  be  a  man  of  homely 
sense,  he  engages  him  in  profitable  talk,  uttering  the 
maxims  of  a  philosophy  which  he  has  found  in  his  own 
soul,  but  knows  not  how  it  came  there.  And  as  the 
wayfarer  makes  ready  to  resume  his  journey,  he  tells  him 
a  sovereign  remedy  for  blistered  feet. 

Now  comes  the  noontide  hour,  —  of  all  the  hours 
nearest  akin  to  midnight ;  for  each  has  its  own  calmness 
and  repose.  Soon,  however,  the  world  begins  to  turn 
again  upon  its  axis,  and  it  seems  the  busiest  epoch  of  the 
day ;  when  an  accident  impedes  the  marcli  of  sublunary 
things.  The  draw  being  lifted  to  permit  the  passage  of 
a  schooner,  laden  with  wood  from  the  Eastern  forests, 
she  sticks  immovably,  right  athwart  the  bridge  !  Mean- 
while, on  both  sides  of  the  chasm,  a  throng  of  impatient 


THE   TOLL-GATHERER'S    DAY.  227 

travellers  fret  and  fume.  Here  are  two  sailor  in  a  gig, 
with  the  top  thrown  back,  both  puffing  cigars,  and 
swearing  all  sorts  of  forecastle  oaths ;  there,  in  a 
smart  chaise,  a  dashingly  dressed  gentleman  and  lady, 
he  from  a  tailor's  shop-board,  and  she  from  a  milliner's 
back  room,  —  the  aristocrats  of  a  summer  afternoon. 
And  what  are  the  haughtiest  of  us,  but  the  ephemeral 
aristocrats  of  a  summer's  day?  Here  is  a  tin-pedler, 
whose  glittering  ware  bedazzles  all  beholders,  like  a 
travelling  meteor,  or  opposition  sun ;  and  on  the  other 
side  a  seller  of  spruce-beer,  which  brisk  liquor  is  confined 
in  several  dozen  of  stone  bottles.  Here  comes  a  party 
of  ladies  on  horseback,  in  green  riding-habits,  and  gen- 
tlemen attendant;  and  there  a  flock  of  sheep  for  the 
market,  pattering  over  the  bridge  with  a  multitudinous 
clatter  of  their  little  hoofs.  Here  a  Frenchman,  with  a 
hand-organ  on  his  shoulder ;  and  there  an  itinerant 
Swiss  jeweller.  On  this  side,  heralded  by  a  blast  of 
clarions  and  bugles,  appears  a  train  of  wagons,  convey- 
ing all  the  wild  beasts  of  a  caravan ;  and  on  that,  a  com- 
pany of  summer  soldiers,  marching  from  village  to  village 
on  a  festival  campaign,  attended  by  the  "  brass  baud." 
Now  look  at  the  scene,  and  it  presents  an  emblem  of  the 
mysterious  confusion,  the  apparently  insolvable  riddle,  in 
which  individuals,  or  the  great  world  itself,  seem  often 
to  be  involved.  What  miracle  shall  set  all  things  right 
again  ? 

But  see!  the  schooner  has  thrust  her  bulky  carcass 
through  the  chasm ;  the  draw  descends ;  horse  and  foot 
pass  onward,  and  leave  the  bridge  vacant  from  end  to 
end.  "  And  thus,"  muses  the  toll-gatherer,  "  have  I 
found  it  with  all  stoppages,  even  though  the  universe 
seemed  to  be  at  a  stand."  The  sage  old  man ! 

Far  westward  now,  the  reddening  sun  throws  a  broad 


228  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

sheet  of  splendor  across  the  flood,  and  to  the  eyes  of 
distant  boatmen  gleams  brightly  among  the  timbers  of 
the  bridge.  Strollers  come  from  the  town  to  quaff  the 
freshening  breeze.  One  or  two  let  down  long  lines,  and 
haul  up  flapping  flounders,  or  cunners,  or  small  cod,  or 
perhaps  an  eel.  Others,  and  fair  girls  among  them,  with 
the  flush  of  the  hot  day  still  on  their  cheeks,  bend  over 
the  railing  and  watch  the  heaps  of  sea-weed  floating 
upward  with  the  flowing  tide.  The  horses  now  tramp 
heavily  along  the  bridge,  and  wistfully  bethink  them  of 
their  stables.  Rest,  rest,  thou  weary  world !  for  to- 
morrow's round  of  toil  and  pleasure  will  be  as  weari- 
some as  to-day's  has  been;  yet  both  shall  bear  thee 
onward  a  day's  march  of  eternity.  Now  the  old  toll- 
gatherer  looks  seaward,  and  discerns  the  lighthouse 
kindling  on  a  far  island,  and  the  stars,  too,  kindling  in 
the  sky,  as  if  but  a  little  way  beyond ;  and  mingling 
reveries  of  Heaven  with  remembrances  of  Earth,  the 
whole  procession  of  mortal  travellers,  all  the  dusty  pil- 
grimage which  he  has  witnessed,  seems  like  a  flitting 
show  of  phantoms  for  his  thoughtful  soul  to  muse 
upon. 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN. 

j|T  fifteen,  I  became  a  resident  in  a  country  vil- 
more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  home. 
The  morning  after  my  arrival  —  a  September 
morning,  but  warm  and  bright  as  any  in  July  —  I  ram- 
bled into  a  wood  of  oaks,  with  a  few  walnut-trees  inter- 
mixed, forming  the  closest  shade  above  my  head.  The 
ground  was  rocky,  uneven,  overgrown  with  bushes  and 
clumps  of  young  saplings,  and  traversed  only  by  cattle- 
paths.  The  track,  which  I  chanced  to  follow,  led  me  to 
a  crystal  spring,  with  a  border  of  grass,  as  freshly  green 
as  on  May  morning,  and  overshadowed  by  the  limb  of 
a  great  oak.  One  solitary  sunbeam  found  its  way  down, 
and  played  like  a  goldfish  in  the  water. 

From  my  childhood,  I  have  loved  to  gaze  into  a 
spring.  The  water  filled  a  circular  basin,  small  but 
deep,  and  set  round  with  stones,  some  of  which  were 
covered  with  slimy  moss,  the  others  naked,  and  of 
variegated  hue,  reddish,  white,  and  brown.  The  bot- 
tom was  covered  with  coarse  sand,  which  sparkled  in 
the  lonely  sunbeam,  and  seemed  to  illuminate  the  spring 
with  an  unborrowed  light.  In  one  spot,  the  gush  of 
the  water  violently  agitated  the  sand,  but  without  ob- 
scuring the  fountain,  or  breaking  the  glassiness  of  its 
surface.  It  appeared  as  if  some  living  creature  were 


230  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

about  to  emerge  —  the  Naiad  of  the  spring,  perhaps  — 
in  the  shape  of  a  beautiful  young  woman,  •with  a  gown 
of  filmy  water-moss,  a  belt  of  rainbow-drops,  and  a  cold, 
pure,  passionless  countenance.  How  would  the  beholder 
shiver,  pleasantly,  yet  fearfully,  to  see  her  sitting  on  one 
of  the  stones,  paddling  her  white  feet  in  the  ripples,  and 
throwing  up  water,  to  sparkle  in  the  sun !  Wherever 
she  laid  her  hands  on  grass  and  flowers,  they  would 
immediately  be  moist,  as  with  morning  dew.  Then 
would  she  set  about  her  labors,  like  a  careful  housewife, 
to  clear  the  fountain  of  withered  leaves,  and  bits  of 
slimy  wood,  and  old  acorns  from  the  oaks  above,  and 
grains  of  corn  left  by  cattle  in  drinking,  till  the  bright 
sand,  in  the  bright  water,  were  like  a  treasury  of  dia- 
monds. But,  should  the  intruder  approach  too  near, 
he  would  find  only  the  drops  of  a  summer  shower  glis- 
tening about  the  spot  where  he  had  seen  her. 

Reclining  on  the  border  of  grass,  where  the  dewy 
goddess  should  have  been,  I  bent  forward,  and  a  pair 
of  eyes  met  mine  within  the  watery  mirror.  They  were 
the  reflection  of  my  own.  I  looked  again,  and  lo ! 
another  face,  deeper  in  the  fountain  than  my  own 
image,  more  distinct  in  all  the  features,  yet  faint  as 
thought.  The  vision  had  the  aspect  of  a  fair  young 
girl,  with  locks  of  paly  gold.  A  mirthful  expression 
laughed  in  the  eyes  and  dimpled  over  the  whole  shad- 
owy countenance,  till  it  seemed  just  what  a  fountain 
would  be,  if,  while  dancing  merrily  into  the  sunshine, 
it  should  assume  the  shape  of  woman.  Through  the 
dim  rosiness  of  the  cheeks,  I  could  see  the  brown 
leaves,  the  slimy  twigs,  the  acorns,  and  the  sparkling 
sand.  The  solitary  sunbeam  was  diffused  among  the 
golden  hair,  which  melted  into  its  faint  brightness,  and 
became  a  glory  round  that  head  so  beautiful ! 


THE   VISION   OF   THE    FOUNTAIN.  231 

My  description  can  give  no  idea  how  suddenly  the 
fountain  was  thus  tenanted,  and  how  soon  it  was  left 
desolate.  I  breathed ;  and  there  was  the  face  !  I  held 
my  breath ;  and  it  was  gone !  Had  it  passed  away, 
or  faded  into  nothing  ?  I  doubted  whether  it  had  ever 
been. 

My  sweet  readers,  what  a  dreamy  and  delicious  hour 
did  I  spend,  where  that  vision  found  and  left  me  !  For 
a  long  time  I  sat  perfectly  still,  waiting  till  it  should  re- 
appear, and  fearful  that  the  slightest  motion,  or  even  the 
flutter  of  my  breath,  might  frighten  it  away.  Thus  have 
I  often  started  from  a  pleasant  dream,  and  then  kept 
quiet,  in  hopes  to  wile  it  back.  Deep  were  my  mus- 
ings, as  to  the  race  and  attributes  of  that  ethereal  be- 
ing. Had  I  created  her  ?  Was  she  the  daughter  of  my 
fancy,  akin  to  those  strange  shapes  which  peep  under  the 
lids  of  children's  eyes?  And  did  her  beauty  gladden 
me,  for  that  one  moment,  and  then  die  ?  Or  was  she 
a  water-nymph  within  the  fountain,  or  fairy,  or  wood- 
land goddess  peeping  over  my  shoulder,  or  the  ghost 
of  some  forsaken  maid,  who  had  drowned  herself  for 
love  ?  Or,  in  good  truth,  had  a  lovely  girl,  with  a 
warm  heart,  and  lips  that  would  bear  pressure,  stolen 
softly  behind  me,  and  thrown  her  image  into  the 
spring  ? 

I  watched  and  waited,  but  no  vision  came  again.  I 
departed,  but  with  a  spell  upon  me,  which  drew  me 
back,  that  same  afternoon,  to  the  haunted  spring.  There 
was  the  water  gushing,  the  sand  sparkling,  and  the  sun- 
beam glimmering.  There  the  vision  was  not,  but  only  a 
great  frog,  the  hermit  of  that  solitude,  who  immediately 
withdrew  his  speckled  snout  and  made  himself  invisible, 
all  except  a  pair  of  long  legs,  beneath  a  stone.  Me- 
thought  he  had  a  devilish  look  !  I  could  have  slain  him 


232  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

as  an  enchanter,  who  kept  the  mysterious  beauty  impris- 
oned in  the  fountain. 

Sad  and  heavy,  I  was  returning  to  the  village.  Be- 
'  tween  me  and  the  church-spire  rose  a  little  hill,  and  on 
its  summit  a  group  of  trees,  insulated  from  all  the  rest 
of  the  wood,  with  their  own  share  of  radiance  hovering 
on  them  from  the  west,  and  their  own  solitary  shadow 
falling  to  the  east.  The  afternoon  being  far  declined, 
the  sunshine  was  almost  pensive,  and  the  shade  almost 
cheerful;  glory  and  gloom  were  mingled  in  the  placid 
light ;  as  if  the  spirits  of  the  Day  and  Evening  had  met 
in  friendship  under  those  trees,  and  found  themselves 
akin.  I  was  admiring  the  picture,  when  the  shape  of 
a  young  girl  emerged  from  behind  the  clump  of  oaks. 
My  heart  knew  her ;  it  was  the  Vision ;  but  so  distant 
and  ethereal  did  she  seem,  so  unmixed  with  earth,  so 
imbued  with  the  pensive  glory  of  the  spot  where  she  was 
standing,  that  my  spirit  sunk  within  me,  sadder  than  be- 
fore. How  could  I  ever  reach  her  ? 

While  I  gazed,  a  sudden  shower  caine  pattering  down 
upon  the  leaves.  In  a  moment  the  air  was  full  of  bright- 
ness, each  raindrop  catching  a  portion  of  sunlight  as  it 
fell,  and  the  whole  gentle  shower  appearing  like  a  mist, 
just  substantial  enough  to  bear  the  burden  of  radiance. 
A  rainbow,  vivid  as  Niagara's,  was  painted  in  the  air. 
Its  southern  limb  came  down  before  the  group  of  trees, 
and  enveloped  the  fair  Vision,  as  if  the  hues  of  heaven 
were  the  only  garment  for  her  beauty.  When  the  rain- 
bow vanished,  she,  who  had  seemed  a  part  of  it,  was  no 
longer  there.  Was  her  existence  absorbed  in  Nature's 
loveliest  phenomenon,  and  did  her  pure  frame  dissolve 
away  in  the  varied  light  ?  Yet,  I  would  not  despair  of 
her  return ;  for,  robed  in  the  rainbow,  she  was  the  em- 
blem of  Hope. 


THE    VISION   OF   THE   FOUNTAIN.  233 

Thus  did  the  Vision  leave  me ;  and  many  a  doleful 
day  succeeded  to  the  parting  moment.  By  the  spring, 
and  in  the  wood,  and  on  the  hill,  and  through  the  village  ; 
at  dewy  sunrise,  burning  noon,  and  at  that  magic  hour  of 
sunset,  when  she  had  vanished  from  my  sight,  I  sought 
her,  but  in  vain.  Weeks  came  and  went,  months  rolled 
away,  and  she  appeared  not  in  them.  I  imparted  my 
mystery  to  none,  but  wandered  to  and  fro,  or  sat  in 
solitude,  like  one  that  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  heaven, 
and  could  take  no  more  joy  on  earth.  I  withdrew  into 
an  inner  world,  where  my  thoughts  lived  and  breathed, 
and  the  Vision  in  the  midst  of  them.  Without  intending 
it,  I  became  at  once  the  author  and  hero  of  a  romance, 
conjuring  up  rivals,  imagining  events,  the  actions  of  oth- 
ers and  my  own,  and  experiencing  every  change  of  pas- 
sion, till  jealousy  and  despair  had  their  end  in  bliss.  O, 
had  I  the  burning  fancy  of  my  early  youth,  with  man- 
hood's colder  gift,  the  power  of  expression,  your  hearts, 
sweet  ladies,  should  flutter  at  my  tale  ! 

In  the  middle  of  January,  I  was  summoned  home. 
The  day  before  my  departure,  visiting  the  spots  which 
had  been  hallowed  by  the  Vision,  I  found  that  the  spring 
had  a  frozen  bosom,  and  nothing  but  the  snow  and  a 
glare  of  winter  sunshine,  on  the  hill  of  the  rainbow. 
"  Let  me  hope,"  thought  I,  "  or  my  heart  will  be  as  icy 
as  the  fountain,  and  the  whole  world  as  desolate  as  this 
snowy  hi^."  Most  of  the  day  was  spent  in  preparing 
for  the  journey,  which  was  to  commence  at  four  o'clock 
the  next  morning.  About  an  hour  after  supper,  when 
all  was  in  readiness,  I  descended  from  my  chamber 
to  the  sitting-room,  to  take  leave  of  the  old  clergyman 
and  his  family,  with  whom  I  had  been  an  inmate.  A 
gust  of  wind  blew  out  my  lamp  as  I  passed  through  the 
entry. 


234  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

According  to  their  invariable  custom,  so  pleasant  a 
one  when  the  fire  blazes  cheerfully,  the  family  were  sit- 
ting in  the  parlor,  with  no  other  light  than  what  came 
from  the  hearth.  As  the  good  clergyman's  scanty  sti- 
pend compelled  him  to  use  all  sorts  of  economy,  the 
foundation  of  his  fires  was  always  a  large  heap  of  tan,  or 
ground  bark,  which  would  smoulder  away,  from  morning 
till  night,  with  a  dull  warmth  and  no  flame.  This  even- 
ing the  heap  of  tan  was  newly  put  on,  and  surmounted 
with  three  sticks  of  red-oak,  full  of  moisture,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  dry  pine,  that  had  not  yet  kindled.  There  was 
no  light,  except  the  little  that  came  sullenly  from  two 
half-burned  brands,  without  even  glimmering  on  the 
andirons.  But  I  knew  the  position  of  the  old  minister's 
arm-chair,  and  also  where  his  wife  sat,  with  her  knitting- 
work,  and  how  to  avoid  his  two  daughters,  one  a  stout 
country  lass,  and  the  other  a  consumptive  girl.  Groping 
through  the  gloom,  I  found  my  own  place  next  to  that  of 
the  son,  a  learned  collegian,  who  had  come  home  to  keep 
school  in  the  village  during  the  winter  vacation.  I  no- 
ticed that  there  was  less  room  than  usual,  to-night,  be- 
tween the  collegian's  chair  and  mine. 

As  people  are  always  taciturn  in  the  dark,  not  a  word 
was  said  for  some  time  after  my  entrance.  Nothing 
broke  the  stillness  but  the  regular  click  of  the  matron's 
knitting-needles.  At  times,  the  fire  threw  out  a  brief  and 
dusky  gleam,  which  twinkled  on  the  old  man's  glasses, 
and  hovered  doubtfully  round  our  circle,  but  was  far  too 
faint  to  portray  the  individuals  who  composed  it.  Were 
we  not  like  ghosts  ?  Dreamy  as  the  scene  was,  might  it 
not  be  a  type  of  the  mode  in  which  departed  people,  who 
had  known  and  loved  each  other  here,  would  hold  com- 
munion in  eternity?  We  were  aware  of  each  other's 
presence,  not  by  sight,  nor  sound,  nor  touch,  but  by  an 


THE    VISION    OF   THE    FOUNTAIN.  235 

inward  consciousness.  Would  it  not  be  so  among  the 
dead? 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  the  consumptive  daugh- 
ter, addressing  a  remark  to  some  one  in  the  circle,  whom 
she  called  Rachel.  Her  tremulous  and  decayed  accents 
were  answered  by  a  single  word,  but  in  a  voice  that  made 
me  start,  and  bend  towards  the  spot  whence  it  had  pro- 
ceeded. Had  I  ever  heard  that  sweet,  low  tone  ?  If 
not,  why  did  it  rouse  up  so  many  old  recollections,  or 
mockeries  of  such,  the  shadows  of  things  familiar,  yet 
unknown,  and  fill  my  mind  with  confused  images  of  her 
features  who  had  spoken,  though  buried  in  the  gloom  of 
the  parlor?  Whom  had  ray  heart  recognized,  that  it 
throbbed  so  ?  I  listened,  to  catch  her  gentle  breathing, 
and  strove,  by  the  intensity  of  my  gaze,  to  picture  forth 
a  shape  where  none  was  visible. 

Suddenly,  the  dry  pine  caught ;  the  fire  blazed  up  with 
a  ruddy  glow ;  and  where  the  darkness  had  been,  there 
was  she,  —  the  Vision  of  the  Fountain  !  A  spirit  of  radi- 
ance only,  she  had  vanished  with  the  rainbow,  and  ap- 
peared again  in  the  firelight,  perhaps  to  flicker  with  the 
blaze,  and  be  gone.  Yet,  her  cheek  was  rosy  and  life-like, 
and  her  features,  in  the  bright  warmth  of  the  room,  were 
even  sweeter  and  tenderer  than  my  recollection  of  them. 
She  knew  me  !  The  mirthful  expression  that  had  laughed 
in  her  eyes  and  dimpled  over  her  countenance,  when  I 
beheld  her  faint  beauty  in  the  fountain,  was  laughing  and 
dimpling  there  now.  One  moment  our  glance  mingled, 
—  the  next,  down  rolled  the  heap  of  tan  upon  the  kindled 
wood,  —  and  darkness  snatched  away  that  Daughter  of  the 
Light,  and  gave  her  back  to  me  no  more ! 

Fair  ladies,  there  is  nothing  more  to  tell.  Must  the 
simple  mystery  be  revealed,  then,  that  Rachel  was  the 
daughter  of  the  village  squire,  and  had  left  home  for  a 


236 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 


boarding-school,  the  morning  after  I  arrived,  and  re- 
turned the  day  before  my  departure  ?  If  I  transformed 
her  to  an  angel,  it  is  what  every  youthful  lover  does  for 
his  mistress.  Therein  consists  the  essence  of  my  story. 
But  slight  the  change,  sweet  maids,  to  make  angels  of 
yourselves ! 


FANCY'S  SHOW-BOX. 

A  MORALITY. 

(HAT  is  Guilt  ?  A  stain  upon  the  soul.  And  it 
is  a  point  of  vast  interest,  whether  the  soul  may 
contract  such  stajns,  in  all  their  depth  and  fla- 
grancy,  from  deeds  which  may  have  been  plotted  and 
resolved  upon,  hut  which,  physically,  have  never  had 
existence.  Must  the  fleshly  hand  and  visible  frame  of 
man  set  its  seal  to  the  evil  designs  of  the  soul,  in  order 
to  give  them  their  entire  validity  against  the  sinner  ?  Or, 
while  none  but  crimes  perpetrated  are  cognizable  before 
an  earthly  tribunal,  will  guilty  thoughts,  —  of  which  guilty 
deeds  are  no  more  than  shadows,  —  will  these  draw  down 
the  full  weight  of  a  condemning  sentence,  in  the  supreme 
court  of  eternity  ?  In  the  solitude  of  a  midnight  chamber, 
or  in  a  desert,  afar  from  men,  or  in  a  church,  while  the 
body  is  kneeling,  the  soul  may  pollute  itself  even  with 
those  crimes,  which  we  are  accustomed  to  deem  alto- 
gether carnal.  If  this  be  true,  it  is  a  fearful  truth. 

Let  us  illustrate  the  subject  by  an  imaginary  example. 
A  venerable  gentleman,  one  Mr.  Smith,  who  had  long 
been  regarded  as  a  pattern  of  moral  excellence,  was 
warming  his  aged  blood  with  a  glass  or  two  of  generous 
wine.  His  children  being  gone  forth  about  their  worldly 


238  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

business,  and  his  grandchildren  at  school,  he  sat  alone,  in 
a  deep,  luxurious  arm-chair,  with  his  feet  beneath  a  richly 
carved  mahogany  table.  Some  old  people  have  a  dread  of 
solitude,  and  when  better  company  may  not  be  had,  re- 
joice even  to  hear  the  quiet  breathing  of  a  babe,  asleep 
upon  the  carpet.  But  Mr.  Smith,  whose  silver  hair  was 
the  bright  symbol  of  a  life  unstained,  except  by  such  spots 
as  are  inseparable  from  human  nature,  he  had  no  need  of 
a  babe  to  protect  him  by  its  purity,  nor  of  a  grown  per- 
son to  stand  between  him  and  his  own  soul.  Neverthe- 
less, either  Manhood  must  converse  with  Age,  or  Woman- 
hood must  soothe  him  with  gentle  cares,  or  Infancy  must 
sport  around  his  chair,  or  his  thoughts  will  stray  into  the 
misty  region  of  the  past,  and  the  old  man  be  chill  and  sad. 
Wine  will  not  always  cheer  him.  Such  might  have  been 
the  case  with  Mr.  Smith,  when,  through  the  brilliant  me- 
dium of  his  glass  of  old  Madeira,  he  beheld  three  figures 
entering  the  room.  These  were  Fancy,  who  had  assumed 
the  garb  and  aspect  of  an  itinerant  showman,  with  a  box 
of  pictures  on  her  back ;  and  Memory,  in  the  likeness  of 
a  clerk,  with  a  pen  behind  her  ear,  an  inkhorn  at  her 
buttonhole,  and  a  huge  manuscript  volume  beneath  her 
arm ;  and  lastly,  behind  the  other  two,  a  person  shrouded 
in  a  dusky  mantle,  which  concealed  both  face  and  form. 
But  Mr.  Smith  had  a  shrewd  idea  that  it  was  Conscience. 
How  kind  of  Fancy,  Memory,  and  Conscience  to  visit 
the  old  gentleman,  just  as  he  was  beginning  to  imagine 
that  the  wine  had  neither  so  bright  a  sparkle  nor  so 
excellent  a  flavor  as  when  himself  and  the  liquor  were 
less  aged!  Through  the  dim  length  of  the  apartment, 
where  crimson  curtains  muffled  the  glare  of  sunshine, 
and  created  a  rich  obscurity,  the  three  guests  drew  near 
the  silver-haired  old  man.  Memory,  with  a  finger  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  her  huge  volume,  placed  herself  at 


FANCY'S    SHOW-BOX.  239 

nis  right  hand.  Conscience,  with  her  face  still  j  idden 
in  the  dusky  mantle,  took  her  station  on  the  left,  so  as 
to  be  next  his  heart ;  while  Fancy  set  down  her  picture- 
box  upon  the  table,  with  the  magnifying-glass  convenient 
to  his  eye.  We  can  sketch  merely  the  outlines  of  two  or 
three  out  of  the  many  pictures  which,  at  the  pulling  of  a 
string,  successively  peopled  the  box  with  the  semblances 
of  living  scenes. 

One  was  a  moonlight  picture ;  in  the  background,  a 
lowly  dwelling ;  and  in  front,  partly  shadowed  by  a  tree, 
yet  besprinkled  with  flakes  of  radiance,  two  youthful 
figures,  male  and  female.  The  young  man  stood  with 
folded  arms,  a  haughty  smile  upon  his  lip,  and  a  gleam 
of  triumph  in  his  eye,  as  he  glanced  downward  at  the 
kneeling  girl.  She  was  almost  prostrate  at  his  feet,  evi- 
dently sinking  under  a  weight  of  shame  and  anguish, 
which  hardly  allowed  her  to  lift  her  clasped  hands  in 
supplication.  Her  eyes  she  could  not  lift.  But  neither 
her  agony,  nor  the  lovely  features  on  which  it  was  de- 
picted, nor  the  slender  grace  of  the  form  which  it  con- 
vulsed, appeared  to  soften  the  obduracy  of  the  young 
man.  He  was  the  personification  of  triumphant  scorn. 
Now,  strange  to  say,  as  old  Mr.  Smith  peeped  through 
the  magnifying-glass,  which  made  the  objects  start  out 
from  the  canvas  with  magical  deception,  he  began  to 
recognize  the  farm-house,  the  tree,  and  both  the  figures 
of  the  picture.  The  young  man,  in  times  long  past,  had 
often  met  his  gaze  within  the  looking-glass ;  the  girl  was 
the  very  image  of  his  first  love,  —  his  cottage  love,  —  his 
Martha  Burroughs !  Mr.  Smith  was  scandalized.  "  O, 
vile  and  slanderous  picture !  "  he  exclaims.  "  When 
have  I  triumphed  over  ruined  innocence?  Was  not 
Martha  wedded,  in  her  teens,  to  David  Tomkins,  who 
won  her  girlish  love,  and  long  enjoyed  her  affection  as  a 


240  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

wife  ?  And  ever  since  his  death,  she  has  lived  a  reputa- 
ble widow ! "  Meantime,  Memory  was  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  her  volume,  rustling  them  to  and  fro  with  un- 
certain fingers,  until,  among  the  earlier  pages,  she  found 
one  which  had  reference  to  this  picture.  She  reads  it, 
close  to  the  old  gentleman's  ear ;  it  is  a  record  merely  of 
sinful  thought,  which  never  was  embodied  in  an  act ;  but, 
while  Memory  is  reading,  Conscience  unveils  her  face, 
and  strikes  a  dagger  to  the  heart  of  Mr.  Smith.  Though 
not  a  death-blow,  the  torture  was  extreme. 

The  exhibition  proceeded.  One  after  another,  Fancy 
displayed  her  pictures,  all  of  which  appeared  to  have  been 
painted  by  some  malicious  artist,  on  purpose  to  vex  Mr. 
Smith.  Not  a  shadow  of  proof  could  have  been  adduced, 
in  any  earthly  court,  that  he  was  guilty  of  the  slightest 
of  those  sins  which  were  thus  made  to  stare  him  in  the 
face.  In  one  scene,  there  was  a  table  set  out,  with  sev- 
eral bottles,  and  glasses  half  filled  with  wine,  which  threw 
back  the  dull  ray  of  an  expiring  lamp.  There  had  been 
mirth  and  revelry,  until  the  hand  of  the  clock  stood  just 
at  midnight,  when  murder  stepped  between  the  boon 
companions.  A  young  man  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and 
lay  stone  dead,  with  a  ghastly  wound  crushed  into  his 
temple,  while  over  him,  with  a  delirium  of  mingled  rage 
and  horror  in  his  countenance,  stood  the  youthful  likeness 
of  Mr.  Smith.  The  murdered  youth  wore  the  features  of 
Edward  Spencer !  "  What  does  this  rascal  of  a  painter 
mean  ?  "  cries  Mr.  Smith,  provoked  beyond  all  patience. 
"Edward  Spencer  was  my  earliest  and  dearest  friend, 
true  to  me  as  I  to  him,  through  more  than  half  a  century. 
Neither  I,  nor  any  other,  ever  murdered  him.  Was  he 
not  alive  within  five  years,  and  did  he  not,  in  token  of 
our  long  friendship,  bequeath  me  his  gold-headed  cane 
and  a  mourning  ring?  "  Again  had  Memory  been  turn- 


FANCY'S    SHOW-BOX.  241 

ing  over  her  volume,  and  fixed  at  length  upon  so  confused 
a  page,  that  she  surely  must  have  scribbled  it  when  she 
was  tipsy.  The  purport  was,  however,  that,  while  Mr. 
Smith  and  Edward  Spencer  were  heating  their  young 
blood  with  wine,  a  quarrel  had  flashed  up  between  them, 
and  Mr.  Smith,  in  deadly  wrath,  had  flung  a  bottle  at 
Spencer's  head.  True,  it  missed  its  aim,  and  merely 
smashed  a  looking-glass;  and  the  next  morning,  when, 
the  incident  was  imperfectly  remembered,  they  had  shaken 
hands  with  a  hearty  laugh.  Yet,  again,  while  Memory 
was  reading,  Conscience  unveiled  her  face,  struck  a 
dagger  to  the  heart  of  Mr.  Smith,  and  quelled  his 
remonstrance  with  her  iron  frown.  The  pain  was  quite 
excruciating. 

Some  of  the  pictures  had  been  painted  with  so  doubt- 
ful a  touch,  and  in  colors  so  faint  and  pale,  that  the 
subjects  could  barely  be  conjectured.  A  dull,  semi- 
transparent  mist  had  been  thrown  over- the  surface  of  the 
canvas,  into  which  the  figures  seemed  to  vanish,  while 
the  eye  sought  most  earnestly  to  fix  them.  But,  in  every 
scene,  however  dubiously  portrayed,  Mr.  Smith  was  in- 
variably haunted  by  his  own  lineaments,  at  various  ages, 
as  in  a  dusty  mirror.  After  poring  several  minutes  over 
one  of  these  blurred  and  almost  indistinguishable  pic- 
tures, he  began  to  see  that  the  painter  had  intended  to 
represent  him,  now  in  the  decline  of  life,  as  stripping  the 
clothes  from  the  backs  of  three  half-starved  children. 
"  Really,  this  puzzles  me ! "  quoth  Mr.  Smith,  with  the 
irony  of  conscious  rectitude.  "  Asking  pardon  of  the 
painter,  I  pronounce  him  a  fool,  as  well  as  a  scandalous 
knave.  A  man  of  my  standing  in  the  world,  to  be  rob- 
bing little  children  of  their  clothes  !  Ridiculous  !  "  But 
while  he  spoke,  Memory  had  searched  her  fatal  volume, 
and  found  a  page,  which,  with  her  sad,  calm  voice,  she 

VOL.  I.  11  P 


242  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

poured  into  his  ear.  It  was  not  altogether  inapplicable 
to  the  misty  scene.  It  told  how  Mr.  Smith  had  been 
grievously  tempted,  by  many  devilish  sophistries,  on  the 
ground  of  a  legal  quibble,  to  commence  a  lawsuit  against 
three  orphan  children,  joint  heirs  to  a  considerable  estate. 
Fortunately,  before  he  was  quite  decided,  his  claims  had 
turned  out  nearly  as  devoid  of  law  as  justice.  As  Mem- 
ory ceased  to  read,  Conscience  again  thrust  aside  her 
mantle,  and  would  have  struck  her  victim  with  the  en- 
venomed dagger,  only  that  he  struggled,  and  clasped  his 
hands  before  his  heart.  Even  then,  however,  he  sustained 
an  ugly  gash. 

Why  should  we  follow  Fancy  through  the  whole 
series  of  those  awful  pictures  ?  Painted  by  an  artist 
of  wondrous  power,  and  terrible  acquaintance  with  the 
secret  soul,  they  embodied  the  ghosts  of  all  the  never 
perpetrated  sins  that  had  glided  through  the  lifetime 
of  Mr.  Smith.  And  could  such  beings  of  cloudy  fantasy, 
so  near  akin  to  nothingness,  give  valid  evidence  against 
him,  at  the  day  of  judgment  ?  Be  that  the  case  or  not, 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  one  truly  penitential 
tear  would  have  washed  away  each  hateful  picture,  and 
left  the  canvas  white  as  snow.  But  Mr.  Smith,  at  a 
prick  of  Conscience  too  keen  to  be  endured,  bellowed 
aloud,  with  impatient  agony,  and  suddenly  discovered 
that  his  three  guests  were  gone.  There  he  sat  alone,  a 
silver-haired  and  highly  venerated  old  man,  in  the  rich 
gloom  of  the  crinjson-curtained  room,  with  no  box  of 
pictures  on  the  table,  but  only  a  decanter  of  most  ex- 
cellent Madeira.  Yet  his  heart  still  seemed  to  fester 
with  the  venom  of  the  dagger. 

Nevertheless,  the  unfortunate  old  gentleman  might 
have  argued  the  matter  with  Conscience,  and  alleged 
many  reasons  wherefore  she  should  not  smite  him  so 


FANCY'S    SHOW-BOX.  243 

pitilessly.  Were  we  to  take  up  his  cause,  it  should  be ' 
somewhat  in  the  following  fashion :  A  scheme  of  guilt, 
till  it  be  put  in  execution,  greatly  resembles  a  train  of 
incidents  in  a  projected  tale.  The  latter,  in  order  to 
produce  a  sense  of  reality  in  the  reader's  mind,  must  be 
conceived  with  such  proportionate  strength  by  the  au- 
thor as  to  seem,  in  the  glow  of  fancy,  more  like  truth, 
past,  present,  or  to  come,  than  purely  fiction.  The  pro- 
spective sinner,  on  the  other  hand,  weaves  his  plot  of 
crime,  but  seldom  or  never  feels  a  perfect  certainty  that 
it  will  be  executed.  There  is  a  dreaminess  diffused 
about  his  thoughts ;  in  a  dream,  as  it  were,  he  strikes 
the  death-blow  into  his  victim's  heart,  and  starts  to 
find  an  indelible  blood-stain  on  his  hand.  Thus  a  novel- 
writer,  or  a  dramatist,  in  creating  a  villain  of  romance, 
and  fitting  him  with  evil  deeds,  and  the  villain  of  actual 
life,  in  projecting  crimes  that  will  be  perpetrated,  may 
almost  meet  each  other,  half-way  between  reality  and 
fancy.  It  is  not  until  the  crime  is  accomplished,  that 
guilt  clinches  its  gripe  upon  the  guilty  heart,  and  claims 
it  for  its  own.  Then,  and  not  before,  sin  is  actually  felt 
and  acknowledged,  and,  if  unaccompanied  by  repent- 
ance, grows  a  thousand-fold  more  virulent  by  its  self- 
consciousness.  Be  it  considered,  also,  that  men  often 
overestimate  their  capacity  for  evil.  At  a  distance, 
while  its  attendant  circumstances  do  not  press  upon 
their  notice,  and  its  results  are  dimly  seen,  they  can 
bear  to  contemplate  it.  They  may  take  the  steps  which 
lead  to  crime,  impelled  by  the  same  sort  of  mental 
action  as  in  working  out  a  mathematical  problem,  yet 
be  powerless  with  compunction,  at  the  final  moment. 
They  knew  not  what  deed  it  was  that  they  deemed 
themselves  resolved  to  do.  In  truth,  there  is  no  such 
thing  in  man's  nature  as  a  settled  and  full  resolve, 


244  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

either  for  good  or  evil,  except  at  the  very  moment  of 
execution.  Let  us  hope,  therefore,  that  all  the  dread- 
ful consequences  of  sin  will  not  be  incurred,  unless  the 
act  have  set  its  seal  upon  the  thought. 

Yet,  with  the  slight  fancy-work  which  we  have  framed, 
some  sad  and  awful  truths  are  interwoven.  Man  must 
not  disclaim  his  brotherhood,  even  with  the  guiltiest, 
since,  though  his  hand  be  clean,  his  heart  has  surely 
been  polluted  by  the  flitting  phantoms  of  iniquity.  He 
must  feel,  that,  when  he  shall  knock  at  the  gate  of 
heaven,  no  semblance  of  an  unspotted  life  can  entitle 
him  to  entrance  there.  Penitence  must  kneel,  and 
Mercy  come  from  the  footstool  of  the  throne,  or  that 
golden  gate  will  never  open ! 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT. 

{HAT  very  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  once 
invited  four  venerable  friends  to  meet  him  in  his 
study.  There  were  three  white-bearded  gentle- 
men, Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne,  and  a  withered  gentlewoman,  whose  name  was 
the  Widow  Wycherly.  They  were  all  melancholy  old 
creatures,  who  had  been  unfortunate  in  life,  and  whose 
greatest  misfortune  it  was  that  they  were  not  long  ago 
in  their  graves.  Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the  vigor  of  his 
age,  had  been  a  prosperous  merchant,  but  had  lost  his 
all  by  a  frantic  speculation,  and  was  now  little  better 
than  a  mendicant.  Colonel  Killigrew  had  wasted  his 
best  years,  and  his  health  and  substance,  in  the  pursuit 
of  sinful  pleasures,  which  had  given  birth  to  a  brood  of 
pains,  such  as  the  gout,  and  divers  other  torments  of 
soul  and  body.  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a  ruined  politician, 
a  man  of  evil  fame,  or  at  least  had  been  so,  till  time  had 
buried  him  from  the  knowledge  of  the  present  genera- 
tion, and  made  him  obscure  instead  of  infamous.  As  for 
the  Widow  Wycherly,  tradition  tells  us  that  she  was  a 
great  beauty  in  her  day ;  but,  for  a  long  while  past,  she 
had  lived  in  deep  seclusion,  on  account  of  certain  scan- 
dalous stories,  which  had  prejudiced  the  gentry  of  the 
town  against  her.  It  is  a  circumstance  worth  mention- 


246  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

ing,  that  each  of  these  three  old  gentlemen,  Mr.  Med- 
bourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne,  were 
early  lovers  of  the  Widow  Wycherly,  and  had  once  been 
on  the  point  of  cutting  each  other's  throats  for  her  sake. 
And,  before  proceeding  further,  I  will  merely  hint,  that 
Dr.  Heidegger  and  all  his  four  guests  were  sometimes 
thought  to  be  a  little  beside  themselves ;  as  is  not  unfre- 
quently  the  case  with  old  people,  when  worried  either  by 
present  troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  motion- 
ing them  to  be  seated,  "I  am  desirous  of  your  assistance 
in  one  of  those  little  experiments  with  which  I  amuse 
myself  here  in  my  study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's  study  must 
have  been  a  very  curious  place.  It  was  a  dim,  old-fash- 
ioned chamber,  festooned  with  cobwebs  and  besprinkled 
with  antique  dust.  Around  the  walls  stood  several  oaken 
bookcases,  the  lower  shelves  of  which  were  filled  with 
rows  of  gigantic  folios  and  black-letter  quartos,  and 
the  upper  with  little  parchment-covered  duodecimos. 
Over  the  central  bookcase  was  a  bronze  bust  of  Hip- 
pocrates, with  which,  according  to  some  authorities, 
Dr.  Heidegger  was  accustomed  to  hold  consultations, 
in  all  difficult  cases  of  his  practice.  In  the  obscurest 
corner  of  the  room  stood  a  tall  and  narrow  oaken  closet, 
with  its  door  ajar,  within  which  doubtfully  appeared  a 
skeleton.  Between  two  of  the  bookcases  hung  a  look- 
ing-glass, presenting  its  high  and  dusty  plate  within  a 
tarnished  gilt  frame.  Among  many  wonderful  stories 
related  of  this  mirror,  it  was  fabled  that  the  spirits  of 
all  the  doctor's  deceased  patients  dwelt  within  its  verge, 
and  would  stare  him  in  the  face  whenever  he  looked 
thitherward.  The  opposite  side  of  the  chamber  was 
ornamented  with  the  full-length  portrait  of  a  young 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.     247 

lady,  arrayed  in  the  faded  magnificence  of  silk,  satin, 
and  brocade,  and  with  a  visage  as  faded  as  her  dress. 
Above  half  a  century  ago,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  on 
the  point  of  marriage  with  this  young  lady ;  but;  being 
affected  with  some  slight  disorder,  she  had  swallowed 
one  of  her  lover's  prescriptions,  and  died  on  the  bridal 
evening.  The  greatest  curiosity  of  the  study  remains 
to  be  mentioned;  it  was  a  ponderous  folio  volume, 
bound  in  black  leather,  with  massive  silver  clasps. 
There  were  no  letters  on  the  back,  and  nobody  could 
tell  the  title  of  the  book.  But  it  was  well  known  to  be 
a  book  of  magic ;  and  once,  when  a  chambermaid  had 
lifted  it,  merely  to  brush  away  the  dust,  the  skeleton 
had  rattled  in  its  closet,  the  picture  of  the  young  lady 
had  stepped  one  foot  upon  the  floor,  and  several 
ghastly  faces  had  peeped  forth  from  the  mirror;  while 
the  brazen  head  of  Hippocrates  frowned,  and  said,  "  For- 
bear!" 

Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the  summer 
afternoon  of  our  tale,  a  small  round  table,  as  black  as 
ebony,  stpod  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  sustaining  a  cut- 
glass  vase,  of  beautiful  form  and  elaborate  workmanship. 
The  sunshine  came  through  the  window,  between  the 
heavy  festoons  of  two  faded  damask  curtains,  and  fell 
directly  across  this  vase;  so  that  a  mild  splendor  was 
reflected  from  it  on  the  ashen  visages  of  the  five  old 
people  who  sat  around.  Four  champagne-glasses  were 
also  on  the  table. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  may 
I  reckon  on  your  aid  in  performing  an  exceedingly  curi- 
ous experiment  ?  " 

Now  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange  old  gentle- 
man, whose  eccentricity  had  become  the  nucleus  for  a 
thousand  fantastic  stories.  Some  of  these  fables,  to  my 


248  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

shame  be  it  spoken,  might  possibly  be  traced  back  to 
mine  own  veracious  self;  and  if  any  passages  of  the 
present  tale  should  startle  the  reader's  faith,  I  must  be 
content  to  bear  the  stigma  of  a  fiction-monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him  talk  of  his 
proposed  experiment,  they  anticipated  nothing  more  won- 
derful than  the  murder  of  a  mouse  in  an  air-pump,  or 
the  examination  of  a  cobweb  by  the  microscope,  or  some 
similar  nonsense,  with  which  he  was  constantly  in  the 
habit  of  pestering  his  intimates.  But  without  waiting 
for  a  reply,  Dr.  Heidegger  hobbled  across  the  chamber, 
and  returned  with  the  same  ponderous  folio,  bound  in 
black  leather,  which  common  report  affirmed  to  be  a 
book  of  magic.  Undoing  the  silver  clasps,  he  opened 
the  volume,  and  took  from  among  its  black-letter  pages 
a  rose,  or  what  was  once  a  rose,  though  now  the  green 
leaves  and  crimson  petals  had  assumed  one  brownish 
hue,  and  the  ancient  flower  seemed  ready  to  crumble  to 
dust  in  the  doctor's  hands. 

"  This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a  sigh,  "  this 
same  withered  and  crumbling  flower,  blossomed  five-and- 
fifty  years  ago.  It  was  given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward,  whose 
portrait  hangs  yonder;  and  I  meant  to  wear  it  in  my 
bosom  at  our  wedding.  Five-and-fifty  years  it  has  been 
treasured  between  the  leaves  of  this  old  volume.  Now, 
would  you  deem  it  possible  that  this  rose  of  half  a  cen- 
tury could  ever  bloom  again  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Widow  Wycherly,  with  a  peev- 
ish toss  of  her  head.  "  You  might  as  well  ask  whether 
an  old  woman's  wrinkled  face  could  ever  bloom  again." 

"  See  !  "  answered  Dr.  Heidegger. 

He  uncovered  the  vase,  and  threw  the  faded  rose  into 
the  water  which  it  contained.  At  first,  it  lay  lightly  on 
the  surface  of  the  fluid,  appearing  to  imbibe  none  of  its 


DR.    HEIDEGGER'S    EXPERIMENT.  249 

moisture.  Soon,  however,  a  singular  change  began  to 
be  visible.  The  crushed  and  dried  petals  stirred,  and 
assumed  a  deepening  tinge  of  crimson,  as  if  the  flower 
were  reviving  from  a  death-like  slumber;  the  slender 
stalk  and  twigs  of  foliage  became  green ;  and  there  was 
the  rose  of  half  a  century,  looking  as  fresh  as  when 
Sylvia  Ward  had  first  given  it  to  her  lover.  It  was 
scarcely  full  blown ;  for  some  of  its  delicate  red  leaves 
curled  modestly  around  its  moist  bosom,  within  which 
two  or  three  dewdrops  were  sparkling. 

"  That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  deception,"  said  the 
doctor's  friends;  carelessly,  however,  for  they  had  wit- 
nessed greater  miracles  at  a  conjurer's  show;  "pray  how 
was  it  effected  ?  " 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  '  Fountain  of  Youth,' " 
asked  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  which  Ponce  de  Leon,  the  Span- 
ish adventurer,  went  in  search  of,  two  or  three  centuries 
ago?" 

"But  did  Ponce  de  Leon  ever  find  it?"  said  the 
Widow  Wycherly. 

"  No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  for  he  never  sought 
it  in  the  right  place.  The  famous  Fountain  of  Youth, 
if  I  am  rightly  informed,  is  situated  in  the  southern  part 
of  the  Floridian  peninsula,  not  far  from  Lake  Macaco. 
Its  source  is  overshadowed  by  several  gigantic  magno- 
lias, which,  though  numberless  centuries  old,  have  been 
kept  as  fresh  as  violets,  by  the  virtues  of  this  wonderful 
water.  An  acquaintance  of  mine,  knowing  my  curiosity 
in  such  matters,  has  sent  me  what  you  see  in  the  vase." 

"  Ahem ! "  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who  believed  not 
a  word  of  the  doctor's  story;  "and  what^may  be  the 
effect  of  this  fluid  on  the  human  frame?" 

"  You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  Colonel,"  re- 
plied Dr.  Heidegger;  "and  all  of  you,  my  respected 
11  * 


250  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

friends,  are  welcome  to  so  much  of  this  admirable  fluid 
as  may  restore  to  you  the  bloom  of  youth.  For  my  own 
part,  having  had  much  trouble  in  growing  old,  I  am  in 
no  hurry  to  grow  young  again.  With  your  permission, 
therefore,  I  will  merely  watch  the  progress  of  the  ex- 
periment." 

"While  he  spoke,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  filling  the 
four  champagne-glasses  with  the  water  of  the  Fountain 
of  Youth.  It  was  apparently  impregnated  with  an  effer- 
vescent gas,  for  little  bubbles  were  continually  ascending 
from  the  depths  of  the  glasses,  and  bursting  in  silvery 
spray  at  the  surface.  As  the  liquor  diffused  a  pleasant 
perfume,  the  old  people  doubted  not  that  it  possessed 
cordial  and  comfortable  properties;  and,  though  utter 
sceptics  as  to  its  rejuvenescent  power,  they  were  inclined 
to  swallow  it  at  once.  But  Dr.  Heidegger  besought 
them  to  stay  a  moment. 

"  Before  you  drink,  my  respectable  old  friends,"  said 
he,  "  it  would  be  well  that,  with  the  experience  of  a  life- 
time to  direct  you,  you  should  draw  up  a  few  general 
rules  for  your  guidance,  in  passing  a  second  time  through 
the  perils  of  youth.  Think  what  a  sin  and  shame  it  would 
be,  if,  with  your  peculiar  advantages,  you  should  not  be- 
come patterns  of  virtue  and  wisdom  to  all  the  young  peo- 
ple of  the  age." 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made  him  no  answer, 
except  by  a  feeble  and  tremulous  laugh ;  so  very  ridicu- 
lous was  the  idea,  that,  knowing  how  closely  repentance 
treads  behind  the  steps  of  error,  they  should  ever  go 
astray  again. 

"  Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing.  "  I  rejoice 
that  I  have  so  well  selected  the  subjects  of  my  experi- 
ment." 

With  palsied  hands,  they  raised  the  glasses  to  their 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.     251 

lips.  The  liquor,  if  it  really  possessed  such  virtues  as 
Dr.  Heidegger  imputed  to  it,  could  not  have  been  be- 
stowed on  four  human  beings  who  needed  it  more  wofully. 
They  looked  as  if  they  had  never  known  what  youth  or 
pleasure  was,  but  had  been  the  offspring  of  Nature's 
dotage,  and  always  the  gray,  decrepit,  sapless,  miserable 
creatures  who  now  sat  stooping  round  the  doctor's  table, 
without  life  enough  in  their  souls  or  bodies  to  be  ani- 
mated even  by  the  prospect  of  growing  young  again. 
They  drank  off  the  water,  and  replaced  their  glasses  on 
the  table. 

Assuredly  there  was  an  almost  immediate  improvement 
iu  the  aspect  of  the  party,  not  unlike  what  might  have 
been  produced  by  a  glass  of  generous  wine,  together  with 
a  sudden  glow  of  cheerful  sunshine,  brightening  over  all 
their  visages  at  once.  There  was  a  healthful  suffusion  on 
their  cheeks,  instead  of  the  ashen  hue  that  had  made  them 
look  so  corpse-like.  They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fan- 
cied that  some  magic  power  had  really  begun  to  smooth 
away  the  deep  and  sad  inscriptions  which  Father  Time 
had  been  so  long  engraving  on  their  brows.  The  Widow 
Wycherly  adjusted  her  cap,  for  she  felt  almost  like  a 
woman  again. 

"  Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water !  "  cried  they, 
eagerly.  "  We  are  younger,  — but  we  are  still  too  old ! 
Quick,  —  give  us  more !  " 

"  Patience,  patience  !  "  quoth  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat 
watching  the  experiment,  with  philosophic  coolness. 
"  You  have  been  a  long  time  growing  old.  Surely,  you 
might  be  content  to  grow  young  in  half  an  hour  !  But 
the  water  is  at  your  service." 

Again  he  filled  their  glasses  with  the  liquor  of  youth, 
enough  of  which  still  remained  in  the  vase  to  turn  half 
the  old  people  in  the  city  to  the  age  of  their  own  grand- 


252  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

children.  While  the  bubbles  were  yet  sparkling  on  the 
brim,  the  doctor's  four  guests  snatched  their  glasses  from 
the  table,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp. 
Was  it  delusion?  even  while  the  draught  was  passing 
down  their  throats,  it  seemed  to  have  wrought  a  change 
on  their  whole  systems.  Their  eyes  grew  clear  and 
bright ;  a  dark  shade  deepened  among  their  silvery  locks ; 
they  sat  around  the  table,  three  gentlemen  of  middle  age, 
and  a  wotnan,  hardly  beyond  her  buxom  prime. 

"  My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming  !  "  cried  Colonel 
Killigrew,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  her  face,  while 
the  shadows  of  age  were  flitting  from  it  like  darkness 
from  the  crimson  daybreak. 

The  fair  widow  knew,  of  old,  that  Colonel  Killigrew's 
compliments  were  not  always  measured  by  sober  truth ; 
so  she  started  up  and  ran  to  the  mirror,  still  dreading 
that  the  ugly  visage  of  an  old  woman  would  meet  her  gaze. 
Meanwhile,  the  three  gentlemen  behaved  in  such  a  man- 
ner, as  proved  that  the  water  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth 
possessed  some  intoxicating  qualities;  unless,  indeed, 
their  exhilaration  of  spirits  were  merely  a  lightsome  dizzi- 
ness, caused  by  the  sudden  removal  of  the  weight  of  years. 
Mr.  Gascoigne's  mind  seemed  to -run  on  political  topics, 
but  whether  relating  to  the  past,  present,  or  future,  could 
not  easily  be  determined,  since  the  same  ideas  and  phrases 
have  been  in  vogue  these  fifty  years.  Now  he  rattled 
forth  full-throated  sentences  about  patriotism,  national 
glory,  and  the  people's  right ;  now  he  muttered  some 
perilous  stuff  or  other,  in  a  sly  and  doubtful  whisper,  so 
cautiously  that  even  his  own  conscience  could  scarcely 
catch  the  secret ;  and  now,  again,  he  spoke  in  measured 
accents,  and  a  deeply  deferential  tone,  as  if  a  royal  ear 
were  listening  to  his  well-turned  periods.  Colonel  Killi- 
grew all  this  time  had  been  trolling  forth  a  jolly  bottle- 


DR.    HEIDEGGER'S    EXPERIMENT.  253 

song,  and  ringing  his  glass  in  symphony  with  the  chorus, 
while  his  eyes  wandered  toward  the  buxom  figure  of  the 
"Widow  Wycherly.  On  the  other  side  of  the  table,  Mr. 
Medbourne  was  involved  in  a  calculation  of  dollars  and 
cents,  with  which  was  strangely  intermingled  a  project 
for  supplying  the  East  Indies  with  ice,  by  harnessing  a 
team  of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs. 

As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  she  stood  before  the  mirror 
courtesying  and  simpering  to  her  own  image,  and  greet- 
ing it  as  the  friend  whom  she  loved  better  than  all  the 
world  beside.  She  thrust  her  face  close  to  the  glass,  to 
see  whether  some  long-remembered  wrinkle  or  crow's- 
foot  had  indeed  vanished.  She  examined  whether  the 
snow  had  so  entirely  melted  from  her  hair,  that  the  ven- 
erable cap  could  be  safely  thrown  aside.  At  last,  turning 
briskly  away,  she  came  with  a  sort  of  dancing  step  to  the 
table. 

"  My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "  pray  favor  me  with 
another  glass ! " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly  !  "  replied  the 
complaisant  doctor;  "see!  I  have  already  filled  the 
glasses." 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  glasses,  brimful  of  this 
wonderful  water,  the  delicate  spray  of  which,  as  it  effer- 
vesced from  the  surface,  resembled  the  tremulous  glitter 
of  diamonds.  It  was  now  so  nearly  sunset,  that  the 
chamber  had  grown  duskier  than  ever ;  but  a  mild  and 
moonlike  splendor  gleamed  from  within  the  vase,  and 
rested  alike  on  the  four  guests,  and  on  the  doctor's  ven- 
erable figure.  He  sat  in  a  high-backed,  elaborately  carved 
oaken  arm-chair,  with  a  gray  dignity  of  aspect  that  might 
have  well  befitted  that  very  Father  Time,  whose  power 
had  never  been  disputed,  save  by  this  fortunate  company. 
Even  while  quaffing  the  third  draught  of  the  Fountain  of 


254  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Youth,  they  were  almost  awed  by  the  expression  of  his 
mysterious  visage. 

But,  the  next  moment,  the  exhilarating  gush  of  young 
life  shot  through  their  veins.  They  were  now  in  the 
happy  prime  of  youth.  Age,  with  its  miserable  train  of 
cares,  and  sorrows,  and  diseases,  was  remembered  only 
as  the  trouble  of  a  dream,  from  which  they  had  joyously 
awoke.  The  fresh  gloss  of  the  soul,  so  early  lost,  and 
without  which  the  world's  successive  scenes  had  been 
but  a  gallery  of  faded  pictures,  again  threw  its  enchant- 
ment over  all  their  prospects.  They  felt  like  new-created 
beings,  in  a  new-created  universe. 

"  We  are  young !  We  are  young  !  "  they  cried  exult- 
ingly. 

Youth,  like  tlie  extremity  of  age,  had  effaced  the 
strongly  marked  characteristics  of  middle  life,  and  mutu- 
ally assimilated  them  all.  They  were  a  group  of  merry 
youngsters,  almost  maddened  with  the  exuberant  frolic- 
someness  of  their  years.  The  most  singular  effect  of 
their  gayety  was  an  impulse  to  mock  the  infirmity  and 
decrepitude  of  which  they  had  so  lately  been  the  victims. 
They  laughed  loudly  at  their  old-fashioned  attire, 
the  wide-skirted  coats  and  flapped  waistcoats  of  the 
young  men,  and  the  ancient  cap  and  gown  of  the  bloom- 
ing girl.  One  limped  across  the  floor,  like  a  gouty  grand- 
father ;  one  set  a  pair  of  spectacles  astride  of  his  nose, 
and  pretended  to  pore  over  the  black-letter  pages  of 
the  book  of  magic;  a  third  seated  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  strove  to  imitate  the  venerable  dignity  of  Dr. 
Heidegger.  Then  all  shouted  mirthfully,  and  leaped 
about  the  room.  The  Widow  Wycherly  —  if  so  fresh  a 
damsel  could  be  called  a  widow  —  tripped  up  to  the 
doctor's  chair,  with  a  mischievous  merriment  in  her  rosy 
face. 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.     255 

"  Doctor,  you  dear  old  soul,"  cried  she,  "  get  up  and 
dance  with  me !  "  And  then  the  four  young  people 
laughed  louder  than  ever,  to  think  what  a  queer  figure 
the  poor  old  doctor  would  cut. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,"  answered  the  doctor,  quietly.  "  I 
am  old  and  rheumatic,  and  my  dancing  days  were' over 
long  ago.  But  either  of  these  gay  young  gentlemen  will 
be  glad  of  so  pretty  a  partner." 

"  Dance  with  me,  Clara  !  "  cried  Colonel  Killigrew. 

"  No,  no,  I  will  be  her  partner !  "  shouted  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne. 

"  She  promised  me  her  hand,  fifty  years  ago ! "  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Medbourne. 

They  all  gathered  round  her.  One  caught  both  her 
hands  in  his  passionate  grasp,  —  another  threw  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  —  the  third  buried  his  hand  among  the 
glossy  curls  that  clustered  beneath  the  widow's  cap. 
Blushing,  panting,  struggling,  chiding,  laughing,  her 
warm  breath  fanning  each  of  their  faces  by  turns,  she 
strove  to  disengage  herself,  yet  still  remained  in  their 
triple  embrace.  Never  was  there  a  livelier  picture  of 
youthful  rivalship,  with  bewitching  beauty  for  the  prize. 
Yet,  by  a  strange  deception,  Bowing  to  the  duskiness  of 
the  chamber,  and  the  antique  dresses  which  they  still 
wore,  the  tall  mirror  is  said  to  have  reflected  the  figures 
the  three  old,  gray,  withered  grandsires,  ridiculously 
contending  for  the  skinny  ugliness  of  a  shrivelled 
grandam. 

But  they  were  young :  their  burning  passions  proved 
them  so.  Inflamed  to  madness  by  the  coquetry  of  the 
girl-widow,  who  neither  granted  nor  quite  withheld  her 
favors,  the  three  rivals  began  to  interchange  threatening 
glances.  Still  keeping  hold  of  the  fair  prize,  they  grap- 
pled fiercely  at  one  another's  throats.  As  they  strug- 


256  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

gled  to  and  fro,  the  table  was  overturned,  and  the  vase 
dashed  into  a  thousand  fragments.  The  precious  Water 
of  Youth  flowed  in  a  bright  stream  across  the  floor, 
moistening  the  wings  of  a  butterfly,  which,  grown  old 
in  the  decline  of  summer,  had  alighted  there  to  die. 
The  •  insect  fluttered  lightly  through  the  chamber,  and 
settled  on  the  snowy  head  of  Dr.  Heidegger. 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen !  —  come,  Madam  Wych- 
erly,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "I  really  must  protest 
against  this  riot." 

They  stood  still  and  shivered ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  gray 
Time  were  calling  them  back  from  their  sunny  youth,  far 
down  into  the  chill  and  darksome  vale  of  years.  They 
looked  at  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  in  his  carved  arm- 
chair, holding  the  rose  of  hah0  a  century,  which  he  had 
rescued  from  among  the  fragments  of  the  shattered  vase. 
At  the  motion  of  his  hand,  the  four  rioters  resumed  their 
seats ;  the  more  readily,  because  their  violent  exertions 
had  wearied  them,  youthful  though  they  were. 

"  My  poor  Sylvia's  rose  !  "  ejaculated  Dr.  Heidegger, 
holding  it  in  the  light  of  the  sunset'  clouds ;  "  it  appears 
to  be  fading  again." 

And  so  it  was.  Even  while  tie  party  were  looking  at 
it,  the  flower  continued  to  shrivel  up,  till  it  became  as 
dry  and  fragile  as  when  the  doctor  had  first  thrown  it 
into  the  vase.  He  shook  off  the  few  drops  of  moisture 
which  clung  to  its  petals. 

"  I  love  it  as  well  thus,  as  in  its  dewy  freshness,"  ob- 
served he,  pressing  the  withered  rose  to  his  withered 
lips.  While  he  spoke,  the  butterfly  fluttered  down  from 
the  doctor's  snowy  head,  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

His  guests  shivered  again.  A  strange  chillness, 
whether  of  the  body  or  spirit  they  could  not  tell,  was 
creeping  gradually  over  them  all.  They  gazed  at  one 


D-E.    HEIDEGGEE'S    EXPERIMENT.  257 

another,  and  fancied  that  each  fleeting  moment  snatched 
away  a  charm,  and  left  a  deepening  furrow  where  none 
had  been  before.  Was  it  an  illusion  ?  Had  the  changes 
of  a  lifetime  been  crowded  into  so  brief  a  space,  and 
were  they  now  four  aged  people,  sitting  with  their  old 
friend,  Dr.  Heidegger  ? 

"Are  we  grown  old  again,  so  soon?"  cried  they, 
dolefully. 

In  truth,  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth  possessed 
merely  a  virtue  more  transient  than  that  of  wine.  The 
delirium  which  it  created  had  effervesced  away.  Yes ! 
they  were  old  again.  With  a  shuddering  impulse,  that 
showed  her  a  woman  still,  the  widow  clasped  her  skinny 
hands  before  her  face,  and  wished  that  the  coffin-lid  were 
over  it,  since  it  could  be  no  longer  beautiful. 

"  Yes,  friends,  ye  are  old  again,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger ; 
"  and  lo !  the  Water  of  Youth  is  all  lavished  on  the 
ground.  Well,  I  bemoan  it  not;  for  if  the  fountain 
gushed  at  my  very  doorstep,  I  would  not  stoop  to  bathe 
my  lips  in  it;  no,  though  its  delirium  were  for  years 
instead  of  moments.  Such  is  the  lesson  ye  have  taught 
me ! " 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught  no  such  les- 
son to  themselves.  They  resolved  forthwith  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Florida,  and  quaff  at  morning,  noon,  and 
night  from  the  fountain  of  Youth. 

NOTE.  —  In  an  English  Review,  not  long  since,  I  have  been 
accused  of  plagiarizing  the  idea  of  this  story  from  a  chapter  in 
one  of  the  novels  of  Alexandra  Dumas.  There  has  undoubtedly- 
been  a  plagiarism  on  one  side  or  the  other ;  but  as  my  story 
was  written  a  good  deal  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  and  as 
the  novel  is  of  considerably  more  recent  date,  I  take  pleasure 
iu  thinking  that  M.  Dumas  has  done  me  the  honor  to  appro- 

Q 


258 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 


priate  one  of  the  fanciful  conceptions  of  my  earlier  days.  He 
is  heartily  welcome  to  it ;  nor  is  it  the  only  instance,  by  many, 
in  which  the  great  French  romancer  has  exercised  the  privilege 
of  commanding  genius  by  confiscating  the  intellectual  property 
of  less  famous  people  to  his  own  use  and  behoof. 

September,  1860. 


TWICE-TOLD  TALES 

VOLUME  II. 


TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 


HOWE'S  MASQUERADE. 

IE  afternoon,  last  summer,  while  walking  along 
Washington  Street,  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a 
sign-board  protruding  over  a  narrow  archway, 
nearly  opposite  the  Old  South  Church.  The  sign  repre- 
sented the  front  of  a  stately  edifice,  which  was  designated 
as  the  "  OLD  PROVINCE  HOUSE,  kept  by  Thomas  Waite." 
I  was  glad  to  be  thus  reminded  of  a  purpose,  long  enter- 
tained, of  visiting  and  rambling  over  the  mansion  of  the 
old  royal  governors  of  Massachusetts ;  and  entering  the 
arched  passage,  which  penetrated  through  the  middle  of 
a  brick  row  of  shops,  a  few  steps  transported  me  from 
the  busy  heart  of  modern  Boston  into  a  small  and  se- 
cluded court-yard.  One  side  of  this  space  was  occupied 
by  the  square  front  of  the  Province  House,  three  stories 
high,  and  surmounted  by  a  cupola,  on  the  top  of  which  a 


5  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

gilded  Indian  was  discernible,  with  his  bow  bent  and  his 
arrow  on  the  string,  as  if  aiming  at  the  weathercock  on 
the  spire  of  the  Old  South.  The  figure  has  kept  this  at- 
titude for  seventy  years  or  more,  ever  since  good  Deacon 
Drowue,  a  cunning  carver  of  wood,  first  stationed  him  on 
his  long  sentinel's  watch  over  the  city. 

The  Province  House  is  constructed  of  brick,  which 
seems  recently  to  have  been  overlaid  with  a  coat  of  light- 
colored  paint.  A  flight  of  red  freestone  steps,  fenced  in 
by  a  balustrade  of  curiously  wrought  iron,  ascends  from 
the  court-yard  to  the  spacious  porch,  over  which  is  a  bal- 
cony, with  an  iron  balustrade  of  similar  pattern  and  work- 
manship to  that  beneath.  These  letters  and  figures  — 
16  P.  S.  79  —  are  wrought  into  the  iron-work  of  the 
balcony,  and  probably  express  the  date  of  the  edifice, 
with  the  initials  of  its  founder's  name.  A  wide  door  with 
double  leaves  admitted  me  into  the  hall  or  entry,  on  the 
right  of  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  bar-room. 

It  was  in  this  apartment,  I  presume,  that  the  ancient 
governors  held  their  levees,  with  vice-regal  pomp,  sur- 
rounded by  the  military  men,  the  councillors,  the  judges, 
and  other  officers  of  the  crown,  while  all  the  loyalty  of 
the  province  thronged  to  do  them  honor.  But  the  room, 
in  its  present  condition,  cannot  boast  even  of  faded  mag- 
nificence. The  panelled  wainscot  is  covered  with  dingy 
paint,  and  acquires  a  duskier  hue  from  the  deep  shadow 
into  which  the  Province  House  is  thrown  by  the  brick 
block  that  shuts  it  in  from  Washington  Street.  A  ray 
of  sunshine  never  visits  this  apartment  any  more  than  the 
glare  of  the  festal  torches  which  have  been  extinguished 
from  the  era  of  the  Revolution.  The  most  venerable  and 
ornamental  object  is  a  chimney-piece  set  round  with 
Dutch  tiles  of  blue-figured  China,  representing  scenes 
from  Scripture;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  the  lady  of 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  9 

Pownall  or  Bernard  may  have  sat  beside  this  fireplace, 
and  told  her  children  the  story  of  each  blue  tile.  A  bar 
in  modern  style,  well  replenished  with  decanters,  bottles, 
cigar-boxes,  and  network  J)ags  of  lemons,  and  provided 
with  a  beer-pump  and  a  soda-fount,  extends  along  one 
side  of  the  room.  At  my  entrance,  an  elderly  person 
was  smacking  his  lips,  with  a  zest  which  satisfied  me  that 
the  cellars  of  the  Province  House  still  hold  good  liquor, 
though  doubtless  of  other  vintages  than  were  quaffed  by 
the  old  governors.  After  sipping  a  glass  of  port  sangaree, 
prepared  by  the  skilful  hands  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  I  be- 
sought that  worthy  successor  and  representative  of  so 
many  historic  personages  to  conduct  me  over  their  time- 
honored  mansion. 

He  readily  complied ;  but,  to  confess  the  truth,  I  was 
forced  to  draw  strenuously  upon  my  imagination,  in  order 
to  find  aught  that  was  interesting  in  a  house  which,  with- 
out its  historic  associations,  would  have  seemed  merely 
such  a  tavern  as  is  usually  favored  by  the  custom  of 
decent  city  boarders  and  old-fashioned  country  gentle- 
men. The  chambers,  which  were  probably  spacious  in 
former  times,  are  now  cut  up  by  partitions,  and  subdi- 
vided into  little  nooks,  each  affording  scanty  room  for 
the  narrow  bed  and  chair  and  dressing-table  of  a  single 
lodger.  The  great  staircase,  however,  may  be  termed, 
without  much  hyperbole,  a  feature  of  grandeur  and  mag- 
nificence. It  winds  through  the  midst  of  the  house  by 
flights  of  broad  steps,  each  flight  terminating  in  a  square 
landing-place,  whence  the  ascent  is  continued  towards  the 
cupola.  A  carved  balustrade,  freshly  painted  in  the  lower 
stories,  but  growing  dingier  as  we  ascend,  borders  the 
staircase  with  its  quaintly  twisted  and  intertwined  pillars, 
from  top  to  bottom.  Up  these  stairs  the  military  boots, 
or  perchance  the  gouty  shoes,  of  many  u  governor  have 
j  * 


10  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

trodden,  as  the  wearers  mounted  to  the  cupola,  which 
afforded  them  so  wide  a  view  over  their  metropolis  and 
the  surrounding  country.  The  cupola  is  an  octagon,  with 
several  windows,  and  a  dooj  opening  upon  the  roof. 
From  this  station,  as  I  pleased  myself  with  imagining, 
Gage  may  have  beheld  his  disastrous  victory  on  Bunker 
Hill  (unless  one  of  the  tri-mountains  intervened),  and 
Howe  have  marked  the  approaches  of  Washington's  be- 
sieging army;  although  the  buildings,  since  erected  in 
the  vicinity,  have  shut  out  almost  every  object,  save  the 
steeple  of  the  Old  South,  which  seems  almost  within 
arm's  length.  Descending  from  the  cupola,  I  paused  in 
the  garret  to  observe  the  ponderous  white-oak  frame- 
work, so  much  more  massive  than  the  frames  of  modern 
houses,  and  thereby  resembling  an  antique  skeleton.  The 
brick  walls,  the  materials  of  which  were  imported  from 
Holland,  and  the  timbers  of  the  mansion,  are  still  as 
sound  as  ever;  but  the  floors  and  other  interior  parts 
being  greatly  decayed,  it  is  contemplated  to  gut  the 
whole,  and  build  a  new  house  within  the  ancient  frame 
and  brick-work.  Among  other  inconveniences  of  the 
present  edifice,  mine  host  mentioned  that  any  jar  or 
motion  was  apt  to  shake  down  the  dust  of  ages  out 
of  the  ceiling  of  one  chamber  upon  the  floor  of  that 
beneath  it. 

We  stepped  forth  from  the  great  front  window  into  the 
balcony,  where,  in  old  times,  it  was  doubtless  the  custom 
of  the  king's  representative  to  show  himself  to  a  loyal 
populace,  requiting  their  huzzas  and  tossed-up  hats  with 
stately  bendings  of  his  dignified  person.  In  those  days, 
the  front  of  the  Province  House  looked  upon  the  street ; 
and  the  whole  site  now  occupied  by  the  brick  range  of 
stores,  as  well  as  the  present  court-yard,  was  laid  out  in 
grass-plats,  overshadowed  by  trees  and  bordered  by  a 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  11 

wrought-iron  fence.  Now,  the  old  aristocratic  edifice 
hides  its  time-worn  visage  behind  an  upstart  modern 
building ;  at  one  of  the  back  windows  I  observed  some 
pretty  tailoresses,  sewing,  and  chatting,  and  laughing, 
with  now  and  then  a  careless  glance  towards  the  balcony. 
Descending  thence,  we  again  entered  the  bar-room,  where 
the  elderly  gentleman  above  mentioned,  the  smack  of 
whose  lips  had  spoken  so  favorably  for  Mr.  Waite's  good 
liquor,  was  still  lounging  in  his  chair.  He  seemed  to  be, 
if  not  a  lodger,  at  least  a  familiar  visitor  of  the  house, 
who  might  be  supposed  to  have  his  regular  score  at  the 
bar,  his  summer  seat  at  the  open  window,  and  his  pre- 
scriptive corner  at  the  winter's  fireside.  Being  of  a 
sociable  aspect,  I  ventured  to  address  him  with  a  remark, 
calculated  to  draw  forth  his  historical  reminiscences,  if 
any  such  were  in  his  mind ;  and  it  gratified  me  to  dis- 
cover, that,  between  memory  and  tradition,  the  old  gen- 
tleman was  really  possessed  of  some  very  pleasant  gossip 
about  the  Province  House.  The  portion  of  his  talk  which 
chiefly  interested  me  was  the  outline  of  the  following 
legend.  He  professed  to  have  received  it  at  one  or  two 
removes  from  an  eye-witness ;  but  this  derivation,  to- 
gether with  the  lapse  of  time,  must  have  afforded  oppor- 
tunities for  many  variations  of  the  narrative ;  so  that, 
despairing  of  literal  and  absolute  truth,  I  have  not  scru- 
pled to  make  such  further  changes  as  seemed  conducive 
to  the  reader's  profit  and  delight. 


At  one  of  the  entertainments  given  at  the  Province 
House,  during  the  latter  part  of  the  siege  of  Boston, 
there  passed  a  scene  which  has  nevemyet  been  satis- 
factorily explained.  The  officers  of  the  British  army, 


12  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  the  loyal  gentry  of  the  province,  most  of  whom  were 
collected  within  the  beleagured  town,  had  been  invited 
to  a  masked  ball ;  for  it  was  the  policy  of  Sir  William 
Howe  to  hide  the  distress  and  danger  of  the  period,  and 
the  desperate  aspect  of  the  siege,  under  an  ostentation 
of  festivity.  The  spectacle  of  this  evening,  if  the  oldest 
members  of  the  provincial  court  circle  might  be  believed, 
was  the  most  gay  and  gorgeous  affair  that  had  occurred 
in  the  annals  of  the  government.  The  brilliantly  lighted 
apartments  were  thronged  with  figures  that  seemed  to 
have  stepped  from  the  dark  canvas  of  historic  portraits, 
or  to  have  flitted  forth  from  the  magic  pages  of  romance, 
or  at  least  to  have  flown  hither  from  one  of  the  London 
theatres,  without  a  change  of  garments.  Steeled  knights 
of  the  Conquest,  bearded  statesmen  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  high-ruffled  ladies  of  her  court,  were  mingled  with 
characters  of  comedy,  such  as  a  party-colored  Merry 
Andrew,  jingling  his  cap  and  bells ;  a  Falstaff,  almost  as 
provocative  of  laughter  as  his  prototype;  and  a  Don 
Quixote,  with  a  beau-pole  for  a  lance  and  a  potlid  for  a 
shield. 

But  the  broadest  merriment  was  excited  by  a  group 
of  figures  ridiculously  dressed  in  old  regimentals,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  purchased  at  a  military  rag-fair,  or 
pilfered  from  some  receptacle  of  the  cast-off  clothes  of 
both  the  Trench  and  British  armies.  Portions  of  their 
attire  had  probably  been  worn  at  the  siege  of  Louisburg, 
and  the  coats  of  most  recent  cut  might  have  been  rent 
and  tattered  by  sword,  ball,  or  bayonet,  as  "long  ago  as 
Wolfe's  victory.  One  of  these  worthies  —  a  tall,  lank 
figure,  brandishing  a  rusty  sword  of  immense  longitude 
—  purported  to  be  no  less  a  personage  than  General 
George  Washington ;  and  the  other  principal  officers  of 
the  American  army,  such  as  Gates,  Lee,  Putnam,  Schuy- 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  13 

ler,  Ward,  and  Heath,  were  represented  by  similar  scare- 
crows. An  interview  in  the  mock-heroic  style,  between 
the  rebel  warriors  and  the  British  commander-in-chief, 
was  received  with  immense  applause,  which  came  loudest 
of  all  from  the  loyalists  of  the  colony.  There  was  one 
of  the  guests,  however,  who  stood  apart,  eying  these 
antics  sternly  and  scornfully,  at  once  with  a  frown  and  a 
bitter  smile. 

It  was  an  old  man,  formerly  of  high  station  and  great 
repute  in  the  province,  and  who  had  been  a  very  famous 
soldier  in  his  day.  Some  surprise  had  been  expressed, 
that  a  person  of  Colonel  Joliffe's  known  whig  principles, 
though  now  too  old  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  contest, 
should  have  remained  in  Boston  during  the  siege,  and 
especially  that  he  should  consent  to  show  himself  in  the 
mansion  of  Sir  William  Howe.  But  thither  he  had  come, 
with  a  fair  granddaughter  under  his  arm ;  and  there, 
amid  all  the  mirth  and  buffoonery,  stood  this  stern  old 
figure,  the  best  sustained  character  in  the  masquerade,  be- 
cause so  well  representing  the  antique  spirit  of  his  native 
land.  The  other  guests  affirmed  that  Colonel  Joliffe's 
black  puritanical  scowl  threw  a  shadow  round  about 
him;  although  in  spite  of  his  sombre  influence,  their 
gayety  continued  to  blaze  higher,  like  (an  ominous 
comparison)  the  flickering  brilliancy  of  a  lamp  which 
has  but  a  little  while  to  burn.  Eleven  strokes,  full  half 
an  hour  ago,  had  pealed  from  the  clock  of  the  Old  South, 
when  a  rumor  was  circulated  among  the  company  that 
some  new  spectacle  or  pageant  was  about  to  be  exhibited, 
which  should  put  a  fitting  close  to  the  splendid  festivities 
of  the  night. 

"  What  new  jest  has  your  Excellency  in  hand  ?  "  asked 
the  Rev.  Mather  Byles,  whose  Presbyterian  scruples  had 
not  kept  him  from  the  entertainment.  "  Trust  me,  sir, 


14  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

I  have  already  laughed  more  than  beseems  my  cloth,  at 
your  Homeric  confabulation  with  yonder  ragamuffin  gen- 
eral of  the  rebels.  One  other  such  fit  of  merriment,  and 
I  must  throw  off  my  clerical  wig  and  band." 

"Not  so,  good  Dr.  Byles,"  answered  Sir  William 
Howe;  "if  mirth  were  a  crime,  you  had  never  gained 
your  doctorate  in  divinity.  As  to  this  new  foolery,  I 
know  no  more  about  it  than  yourself;  perhaps  not  so 
much.  Honestly  now,  Doctor,  have  you  not  stirred  up 
the  sober  brains  of  some  of  your  countrymen  to  enact  a 
scene  in  our  masquerade  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  slyly  remarked  the  granddaughter  of  Col- 
onel Joliife,  whose  high  spirit  had  been  stung  by  many 
taunts  against  New  England,  —  "  perhaps  we  are  to  have 
a  mask  of  allegorical  figures.  Victory,  with  trophies  from 
Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill,  —  Plenty,  with  her  over- 
flowing horn,  to  typify  the  present  abundance  in  this 
good  town,  —  and  Glory,  with  a  wreath  for  his  Excel- 
lency's brow." 

Sir  William  Howe  smiled  at  words  which  he  would 
have  answered  with  one  of  his  darkest  frowns,  had  they 
been  uttered  by  lips  that  wore  a  beard.  He  was  spared 
the  necessity  of  a  retort,  by  a  singular  interruption.  A 
sound  of  music  was  heard  without  the  house,  as  if  pro- 
ceeding from  a  full  band  of  military  instruments  stationed 
in  the  street,  playing,  not  such  a  festal  strain  as  was 
suited  to  the  occasion,  but  a  slow  funeral  march.  The 
drums  appeared  to  be  muffled,  and  the  trumpets  poured 
forth  a  wailing  breath,  which  at  once  hushed  the  merri- 
ment of  the  auditors,  filling  all  with  wonder  and  some 
with  aoprehension.  The  idea  occurred  to  many,  that 
either  tne  funeral  procession  of  some  great  personage  had 
nalted  in  front  of  the  Province  House,  or  that  a  corpse, 
in  a  velvet-covered  a-iid  gorgeously  decorated  coffin,  was 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  15 

about  to  be  borne  from  the  portal.  After  listening  a 
moment,  Sir  William  Howe  called,  in  a  stern  voice,  to 
the  leader  of  the  musicians,  who  had  hitherto  enlivened 
the  entertainment  with  gay  and  lightsome  melodies. 
The  man  was  drum-major  to  one  of  the  British  regi- 
ments. 

"  Dighton,"  demanded  the  general,  "  what  means  this 
foolery  ?  Bid  your  band  silence  that  dead  march ;  or, 
by  my  word,  they  shall  have  sufficient  cause  for  their 
lugubrious  strains  !  Silence  it,  sirrah  !  " 

"Please  your  Honor,"  answered  the  drum-major, 
whose  rubicund  visage  had  lost  all  its  color,  "  the  fault 
is  none  of  mine.  I  and  my  baud  are  all  here  together ; 
and  I  question  whether  there  be  a  man  of  us  that  could 
play  that  march  without  book.  I  never  heard  it  but 
once  before,  and  that  was  at  the  funeral  of  his  late 
Majesty,  Kong  George  the  Second." 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  Sir  William  Howe,  recovering 
his  composure ;  "  it  is  the  prelude  to  some  masquerad- 
ing antic.  Let  it  pass." 

A  figure  now  presented  itself,  but,  among  the  many 
fantastic  masks  that  were  dispersed  through  the  apart- 
ments, none  could  tell  precisely  from  whence  it  came. 
It  was  a  man  in  an  old-fashioned  dress  of  black  serge, 
and  having  the  aspect  of  a  steward,  or  principal  domestic 
in  the  household  of  a  nobleman,  or  great  English  land- 
holder. This  figure  advanced  to  the  outer  door  of  the 
mansion,  and  throwing  both  its  leaves  wide  open,  with- 
drew a  little  to  one  side  and  looked  back  towards  the 
grand  staircase,  as  if  expecting  some  person  to  descend. 
At  the  same  time,  the  music  in  the  street  sounded  a  loud 
and  doleful  summons.  The  eyes  of  Sir  William  Howe 
and  his  guests  being  directed  to  the  staircase,  there 
appeared,  on  the  uppermost  landing-place  that  was  dis- 


16  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

cernible  from  the  bottom,  several  personages  descending 
towards  the  door.  The  foremost  was  a  man  of  stern 
visage,  wearing  a  steeple-crowned  hat  and  a  skullcap 
beneath  it ;  a  dark  cloak,  and  huge  wrinkled  boots  that 
came  half-way  up  his  legs.  Under  his  arm  was  a  rolled- 
up  banner,  which  seemed  to  be  the  banner  of  England, 
but  strangely  rent  and  torn ;  he  had  a  sword  in  his  right 
hand,  and  grasped  a  Bible  in  his  left.  The  next  figure 
was  of  milder  aspect,  yet  full  of  dignity,  wearing  a  broad 
ruff,  over  which  descended  a  beard,  a  gown  of  wrought 
velvet,  and  a  doublet  and  hose  of  black  satin.  He  car- 
ried a  roll  of  manuscript  in  his  hand.  Close  behind 
these  two  came  a  young  man  of  very  striking  counte- 
nance and  demeanor,  with  deep  thought  and  contempla- 
tion on  his  brow,  and  perhaps  a  flash  of  enthusiasm  in 
his  eye.  His  garb,  like  that  of  his  predecessors,  was  of 
an  antique  fashion,  and  there  was  a  stain  of  blood  upon 
his  ruff.  In  the  same  group  with  these  were  three  or 
four  others,  all  men  of  dignity  and  evident  command, 
and  bearing  themselves  like  personages  who  were  accus- 
tomed to  the  gaze  of  the  multitude.  It  was  the  idea  of 
the  beholders,  that  these  figures  went  to  join  the  myste- 
rious funeral  that  had  halted  in  front  of  the  Province 
House ;  yet  that  supposition  seemed  to  be  contradicted 
by  the  air  of  triumph  with  which  they  waved  their  hands, 
as  they  crossed  the  threshold  and  vanished  through  the 
portal. 

"  In  the  Devil's  name,  what  is  this  ? "  muttered  Sir 
William  Howe  to  a  gentleman  beside  him ;  "  a  pro- 
cession of  the  regicide  judges  of  King  Charles  the 
martyr  ?  " 

"  These,"  said  Colonel  Joliife,  breaking  silence  almost 
for  the  first  time  that  evening,  —  "  these,  if  I  interpret 
them  aright,  are  the  Puritan  governors,  —  the  rulers  of 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  17 

the  old,  original  democracy  of  Massachusetts.  Endi- 
cott,  with  the  banner  from  which  lie  had  torn  the  sym- 
bol of  subjection,  and  Winthrop,  and  Sir  Henry  Vane, 
and  Dudley,  Haynes,  Bellingham,  and  Leverett." 

"  Why  had  that  young  man  a  stain  of  blood  upon  his 
ruff?  "  asked  Miss  Joliffe. 

"  Because,  in  after  years,"  answered  her  grandfather, 
"he  laid  down  the  wisest  head  in  England  upon  the 
block,  for  the  principles  of  liberty." 

"  Will  not  your  Excellency  order  out  the  guard  ? " 
whispered  Lord  Percy,  who,  with  other  British  officers, 
had  now  assembled  round  the  general.  "  There  may  be 
a  plot  under  this  mummery." 

"Tush!  we  have  nothing  to  fear,"  carelessly  replied 
Sir  William  Howe.  "  There  can  be  no  worse  treason  in 
the  matter  than  a  jest,  and  that  somewhat  of  the  dullest. 
Even  were  it  a  sharp  and  bitter  one,  our  best  policy 
would  be  to  laugh  it  off.  See,  here  come  more  of  these 
gentry." 

Another  group  of  characters  had  now  partly  descend- 
ed the  staircase.  The  first  was  a  venerable  and  white- 
bearded  patriarch,  who  cautiously  felt  his  way  downward 
with  a  staff.  Treading  hastily  behind  him,  and  stretch- 
ing forth  his  gauntleted  hand  as  if  to  grasp  the  old  man's 
shoulder,  came  a  tall,  soldier-like  figure,  equipped  with 
a  plumed  cap  of  steel,  a  bright  breastplate,  and  a  long 
sword,  which  rattled  against  the  stairs.  Next  was  seen 
a  stout  man,  dressed  in  rich  and  courtly  attire,  but  not 
of  courtly  demeanor;  his  gait  had  the  swinging  motion 
of  a  seaman's  walk ;  and  chancing  to  stumble  on  the 
staircase,  he  suddenly  grew  wrathful,  and  was  heard  to 
mutter  an  oath.  He  was  followed  by  a  noble-looking 
personage  in  a  curled  wig,  such  as  are  represented  in  the 
portraits  of  Queen  Anne's  time  and  earlier; 'and  the 


18  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

breast  of  his  coat  was  decorated  with  an  embroidered 
:star.  While  advancing  to  the  door,  he  bowed  to  the 
right  hand  and  to  the  left,  in  a  very  gracious  and  insin- 
uating style;  but  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  unlike  the 
early  Puritan  governors,  he  seemed  to  wring  his  hands 
with  sorrow. 

"  Prithee,  play  the  part  of  a  chorus,  good  Dr.  Byles," 
said  Sir  William  Howe.  "  What  worthies  are  these  ?  " 

"  If  it  please  your  Excellency,  they  lived  somewhat 
before  my  day,"  answered  the  Doctor;  "but  doubtless 
our  friend,  the  Colonel,  has  been  hand  in  glove  with 
them." 

"  Their  living  faces  I  never  looked  upon,"  said  Colonel 
Joliffe,  gravely;  "although  I  have  spoken  face  to  face 
with  many  rulers  of  this  land,  and  shall  greet  yet  another 
with  an  old  man's  blessing,  ere  I  die.  But  we  talk  of 
these  figures.  I  take  the  venerable  patriarch  to  be  Brad- 
street,  the  last  of  the  Puritans,  who  was  governor  at 
ninety,  or  thereabouts.  The  next  is  Sir  Edmund  Audros, 
a  tyrant,  as  any  New  England  school-boy  will  tell  you ; 
and  therefore  the  people  cast  him  down  from  his  high  seat 
into  a  dungeon.  Then  comes  Sir  William  Phipps,  shep- 
herd, cooper,  sea-captain,  and  governor:  may  many  of 
his  countrymen  rise  as  high,  from  as  low  an  origin ! 
Lastly,  you  saw  the  gracious  Earl  of  Bellamont,  who 
ruled  us  under  King  William." 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  it  all  ? "  asked  Lord 
Percy. 

"  Now,  were  I  a  rebel,"  said  Miss  Joliffe,  half  aloud, 
"  I  might  fancy  that  the  ghosts  of  these  ancient  govern- 
ors had  been  summoned  to  form  the  funeral  procession  of 
royal  authority  in  New  England." 

Several  other  figures  were  now  seen  at  the  turn  of  the 
staircase.  The  one  in  advance  had  a  thoughtful,  anxious. 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  19 

and  somewhat  crafty  expression  of  face  ;  and  in  spite  of 
his  loftiness  of  manner,  which  was  evidently  the  result 
both  of  an  ambitious  spirit  and  of  long  continuance  in 
high  stations,  he  seemed  not  incapable  of  cringing  to  a 
greater  than  himself.  A  few  steps  behind  came  an  officer 
in  a  scarlet  and  embroidered  uniform,  cut  in  a  fashion  old 
enough  to  have  been  worn  by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
His  nose  had  a  rubicund  tinge,  which,  together  with  the 
twinkle  of  his  eye,  might  have  marked  him  as  a  lover  of 
the  wine-cup  and  good-fellowship  ;  notwithstanding  which 
tokens,  he  appeared  ill  at  ease,  and  often  glanced  around 
him,  as  if  apprehensive  of  some  secret  mischief.  Next 
came  a  portly  gentleman,  wearing  a  coat  of  shaggy  cloth, 
lined  with  silken  velvet ;  he  had  sense,  shrewdness,  and 
humor  in  his  face,  and  a  folio  volume  under  his  arm  ;  but 
his  aspect  was  that  of  a  man  vexed  and  tormented  beyond 
all  patience  and  harassed  almost  to  death.  He  went 
hastily  down,  and  was  followed  by  a  dignified  person, 
dressed  in  a  purple  velvet  suit,  with  very  rich  embroidery ; 
his  demeanor  would  have  possessed  much  stateliness,  only 
that  a  grievous  fit  of  the  gout  compelled  him  to  hobble 
from  stair  to  stair,  with  contortions  of  face  and  body. 
When  Dr.  Byles  beheld  this  figure  on  the  staircase,  he 
shivered  as  with  an  ague,  but  continued  to  watch  him 
steadfastly,  until  the  gouty  gentleman  had  reached  the 
threshold,  made  a  gesture  of  anguish  and  despair,  and 
vanished  into  the  outer  gloom,  whither  the  funeral  music 
summoned  him. 

"  Governor  Belcher  !  —  my  old  patron  !  —  in  his  very 
shape  and  dress  !  "  gasped  Dr.  Byles.  "  This  is  an  awful 
mockery ! " 

"A  tedious  foolery,  rather,"  said  Sir  William  Howe, 
with  an  air  of  indifference.  "  But  who  were  the  three 
that  preceded  him  ?  " 


20  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Governor  Dudley,  a  cunning  politician,  —  yet  his 
craft  once  brought  him  to  a  prison,"  replied  Colonel 
JolifFe ;  "  Governor  Shute,  formerly  a  colonel  under 
Marlborough,  and  whom  the  people  frightened  out  of  the 
province ;  and  learned  Governor  Burnet,  whom  the  Legis- 
lature tormented  into  a  mortal  fever." 

"Methinks  they  were  miserable  men,  these  royal 
governors  of  Massachusetts,"  observed  Miss  Joliffe. 
"  Heavens,  how  dim  the  light  grows !  " 

It  was  certainly  a  fact  that  the  large  lamp  which  illu- 
minated the  staircase  now  burned  dim  and  duskily :  so 
that  several  figures,  which  passed  hastily  down  the  stairs 
and  went  forth  from  the  porch,  appeared  rather  like 
shadows  than  persons  of  fleshly  substance.  Sir  William 
Howe  and  his  guests  stood  at  the  doors  of  the  contigu- 
ous apartments,  watching  the  progress  of  this  singular 
pageant,  with  various  emotions  of  anger,  contempt,  or 
half-acknowledged  fear,  but  still  with  an  anxious  curios- 
ity. The  shapes,  which  now  seemed  hastening  to  join  the 
mysterious  procession,  were  recognized  rather  by  striking 
peculiarities  of  dress,  or  broad  characteristics  of  manner, 
than  by  any  perceptible  resemblance  of  features  to  their 
prototypes.  Their  faces,  indeed,  were  invariably  kept  in 
deep  shadow.  But  Dr.  Byles,  and  other  gentlemen  who 
had  long  been  familiar  with  the  successive  rulers  of  the 
province,  were  heard  to  whisper  the  names  of  Shirley,  of 
Pownall,  of  Sir  Francis  Bernard,  and  of  the  well-remem- 
bered Hutchinson;  thereby  confessing  that  the  actors, 
whoever  they  might  be,  in  this  spectral  march  of  govern- 
ors, had  succeeded  in  putting  on  some  distant  portraiture 
of  the  real  personages.  As  they  vanished  from  the  door, 
still  did  these  shadows  toss  their  arms  into  the  gloom 
of  night,  with  a  dread  expression  of  woe.  Following 
the  mimic  representative  of  Hutchinsou  came  a  military 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  21 

figure,  holding  before  his  face  the  cocked  hat  which  he 
had  taken  from  his  powdered  head ;  but  his  epaulets  and 
other  insignia  of  rank  were  those  of  a  general  officer ; 
and  something  in  his  mien  reminded  the  beholders  of  one 
who  had  recently  been  master  of  the  Province  House,  and 
chief  of  all  the  land. 

"  The  shape  of  Gage,  as  true  as  in  a  -looking-glass  !  " 
exclaimed  Lord  Percy,  turning  pale. 

"  No,  surely,"  cried  Miss  Joliffe,  laughing  hysterically ; 
"  it  could  not  be  Gage,  or  Sir  William  would  have  greeted 
his  old  comrade  in  arms !  Perhaps  he  will  not  suffer  the 
next  to  pass  unchallenged." 

"  Of  that  be  assured,  young  lady,"  answered  Sir  Wil- 
liam Howe,  fixing  his  eyes,  with  a  very  marked  expression, 
upon  the  immovable  visage  of  her  grandfather.  "  I  have 
long  enough  delayed  to  pay  the  ceremonies  of  a  host  to 
these  departing  guests.  The  next  that  takes  his  leave 
shall  receive  due  courtesy." 

A  wild  and  dreary  burst  of  music  came  through  the 
open  door.  It  seemed  as  if  the  procession,  which  had 
been  gradually  filling  up  its  ranks,  were  now  about  to 
move,  and  that  this  loud  peal  of  the  wailing  trumpets, 
and  roll  of  the  muffled  drums,  were  a  call  to  some  loiterer 
to  make  haste.  Many  eyes,  by  an  irresistible  impulse, 
were  turned  upon  Sir  William  Howe,  as  if  it  were  he 
whom  the  dreary,  music  summoned  to  the  funeral  of  de- 
parted power. 

"  See  !  —  here  comes  the  last !  "  whispered  Miss  Joliffe, 
pointing  her  tremulous  finger  to  the  staircase. 

A  figure  had  come  into  view  as  if  descending  the 
stairs ;  although  so  dusky  was  the  region  whence  it 
emerged,  some  of  the  spectators  fancied  that  they  had 
seen  this  human  shape  suddenly  moulding  itself  amid 
the  gloom.  Downward  the  figure  came,  with  a  stately 


22  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  martial  tread,  and  reaching  the  lowest  stair  was  ob- 
served to  be  a  tall  man,  booted  and  wrapped  in  a  mili- 
tary cloak,  which  was  drawn  up  around  the  face  so  as 
to  meet  the  napped  brim  of  a  laced  hat.  The  features, 
therefore,  were  completely  hidden.  But  the  British  offi- 
cers deemed  that  they  had  seen  that  military  cloak  be- 
fore, and  even  recognized  the  frayed  embroidery  on  the 
collar,  as  well  as  the  gilded  scabbard  of  a  sword  which 
protruded  from  the  folds  of  the  cloak,  and  glittered  in 
a  vivid  gleam  of  light.  Apart  from  these  trifling  par- 
ticulars, there  were  characteristics  of  gait  and  bearing 
which  impelled  the  wondering  guests  to  glance  from 
the  shrouded  figure  to  Sir  William  Howe,  as  if  to  sat- 
isfy themselves  that  their  host  had  not  suddenly  vanished 
from  the  midst  of  them. 

With  a  dark  flush  of  wrath  upon  his  brow,  they  saw 
the  general  draw  his  sword  and  advance  to  meet  the 
figure  in  the  cloak  before  the  latter  had  stepped  one 
pace  upon  the  floor. 

"Villain,  unmuffle  yourself!"  cried  he.  "You  pass 
no  farther ! " 

The  figure,  without  blenching  a  hair's-breadth  from 
the  sword  which  was  pointed  at  his  breast,  made  a 
solemn  pause  and  lowered  the  cape  of  the  cloak  from 
about  his  face,  yet  not  sufficiently  for  the  spectators  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  it.  But  Sir  William  Howe  had  evi- 
dently seen  enough.  The  sternness  of  his  countenance 
gave  place  to  a  look  of  wild  amazement,  if  not  horror, 
while  he  recoiled  several  steps  from  the  figure,  and  let 
fall  his  sword  upon  the  floor.  The  martial  shape  again 
drew  the  cloak  about  his  features  and  passed  on;  but 
reaching  the  threshold,  with  his  back  towards  the  spec- 
tators, he  was  seen  to  stamp  his  foot  and  shake  Ills' 
clinched  hands  in.  the  air.  It  was  afterwards  affirmed 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  23 

that  Sir  William  Howe  bad  repeated  that  self-same  ges- 
ture of  rage  aud  sorrow,  when,  for  the  last  time,  and 
as  the  last  royal  governor,  he  passed  through  the  portal 
of  the  Province  House. 

"  Hark  !  —  the  procession  moves/'  said  Miss  Joliffe. 

The  music  was  dyiug  away  along  the  street,  and  its 
dismal  strains  were  mingled  with  the  knell  of  midnight 
from  the  steeple  of  the  Old  South,  and  with  the  roar  of 
artillery,  which  announced  that  the  beleaguering  army 
of  \Vashington  had  intrenched  itself  upon  a  nearer  height 
than  before.  As  the  deep  boom  of  the  cannon  smote 
upon  his  ear,  Colonel  Joliffe  raised  himself  to  the  full 
height  of  his  aged  form,  and  smiled  sternly  on  the  Brit- 
ish general. 

"  Would  your  Excellency  inquire  further  into  the  mys- 
tery of  the  pageant  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Take  care  of  your  gray  head ! "  cried  Sir  William 
Howe,  fiercely,  though  with  a  quivering  lip.  "  It  has 
stood  too  long  on  a  traitor's  shoulders ! " 

"  You  must  make  haste  to  chop  it  off,  then,"  calmly 
replied  the  Colonel;  "for  a  few  hours  longer,  and  not 
all  the  power  of  Sir  William  Howe,  nor  of  his  master, 
shall  cause  one  of  these  gray  hairs  to  fall.  The  empire 
of  Britain,  in  this  ancient  province,  is  at  its  last  gasp 
to-night;  almost  while  I  speak  it  is  a  dead  corpse-, 
and  inethiuks  the  shadows  of  the  old  governors  are  fit 
mourners  at  its  funeral !  " 

With  these  words  Colonel  Joliffe  threw  on  his  cloak, 
and  drawing  his  granddaughter's  arm  within  his  own, 
retired  from  the  last  festival  that  a  British  ruler  ever 
held  in  the  old  province  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  Colonel  and  the  young  lady  possessed 
some  secret  intelligence  in  regard  to  the  mysterious 
pageant  of  that  night.  However  this  might  be,  such 


24  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

knowledge  Las  never  become  general.  The  actors  in 
the  scene  have  vanished  into  deeper  obscurity  than  even 
that  wild  Indian  band  who  scattered  the  cargoes  of  the 
tea-ships  on  the  waves,  and  gained  a  place  in  history, 
yet  left  no  names.  But  superstition,  among  other  legends 
of  this  mansion,  repeats  the  wondrous  tale,  that  on  the 
anniversary  night  of  Britain's  discomfiture,  the  ghosts 
of  the  ancient  governors  of  Massachusetts  still  glide 
through  the  portal  of  the  Province  House.  And,  last 
of  all,  comes  a  figure  shrouded  in  a  military  cloak,  toss- 
ing his  clinched  hands  into  the  air,  and  stamping  his 
iron-shod  boots  upon  the  broad  freestone  steps  with  a 
semblance  of  feverish  despair,  but  without  the  sound  of 
a  foot-tramp. 


When  the  truth-telling  accents  of  the  elderly  gentle- 
man were  hushed,  I  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked 
round  the  room,  striving,  with  the  best  energy  of  my 
imagination,  to  throw  a  tinge  of  romance  and  historic 
grandeur  over  the  realities  of  the  scene.  But  my  nos- 
trils snuffed  up  a  scent  of  cigar-smoke,  clouds  of  which 
the  narrator  had  emitted  by  way  of  visible  emblem,  I 
suppose,  of  the  nebulous  obscurity  of  his  tale.  More- 
over, my  gorgeous  fantasies  were  wofully  disturbed  by 
the  rattling  of  the  spoon  in  a  tumbler  of  whiskey  punch, 
which  Mr.  Thomas  Waite  was  mingling  for  a  customer. 
Nor  did  it  add  to  the  picturesque  appearance  of  the  pan- 
elled walls,  that  the  slate  of  the  Brookline  stage  was 
suspended  against  them,  instead  of  the  armorial  es- 
cutcheon of  some  far-descended  governor.  A  stage- 
driver  sat  at  one  of  the  windows,  reading  a  penny  paper 
of  the  day,  —  the  Boston  Times,  —  and  presenting  a  fig- 
ure which  could  nowise  bo  brought  into  any  picture  of 


HOWE'S    MASQUERADE.  25 

"Times  in  Boston,"  seventy  or  a  hundred  years  ago. 
On  the  window-seat  lay  a  bundle,  neatly  done  up  in 
brown  paper,  the  direction  of  which  I  had  the  idle  curi- 
osity to  reud.  "  Miss  SUSAN  HUGGINS,  at  the  PROVINCE 
HOUSE."  A  pretty  chambermaid,  no  doubt.  In  truth, 
it  is  desperately  hard  work,  when  we  attempt  to  throw 
the  spell  of  hoar  antiquity  over  localities  with  which 
the  living  world,  and  the  day  that  is  passing  over  us, 
have  aught  to  do.  Yet,  as  I  glanced  at  the  stately  stair- 
case, down  which  the  procession  of  the  old  governors 
had  descended,  and  as  I  emerged  through  the  venerable 
portal,  whence  their  figures  had  preceded  me,  it  glad- 
dened me  to  be  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  awe.  Then 
diving  through  the  narrow  archway,  a  few  strides  trans- 
ported me  into  the  densest  throng  of  Washington  Street 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 

II. 
EDWAED  RANDOLPH'S  PORTRAIT. 

IE  old  legendary  guest  of  the  Province  House 
abode  in  my  remembrance  from  midsummer  till 
January.  One  idle  evening,  last  winter,  confi- 
dent that  he  would  be  found  in  the  snuggest  corner  of  the 
bar-room,  I  resolved  to  pay  him  another  visit,  hoping  to 
>  deserve  well  of  my  country  by  snatching  from  oblivion 
some  else  unheard-of  fact  of  history.  The  night  was 
chill  and  raw,  and  rendered  boisterous  by  almost  a  gale 
of  wind,  which  whistled  along  Washington  Street,  caus- 
ing the  gaslights  to  flare  and  flicker  within  the  lamps. 
As  I  hurried  onward,  my  fancy  was  busy  with  a  compar- 
ison between  the  present  aspect  of  the  street,  and  that 
which  it  probably  wore  when  the  British  governors  in- 
habited the  mansion  whither  I  was  now  going.  Brick 
edifices  in  those  times  were  few,  till  a  succession  of  de- 
structive fires  had  swept,  and  swept  again,  the  wooden 
dwellings  and  warehouses  from  the  most  populous  quar- 
ters of  the  town.  The  buildings  stood  insulated  and  in- 
dependent, not,  as  now,  merging  their  separate  existences 
into  connected  ranges,  with  a  front  of  tiresome  identity, 


EDWARD   RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  27 

but  each  possessing  features  of  its  own,  as  if  the  own- 
er's individual  taste  had  shaped  it,  and  the  whole  pre- 
senting a  picturesque  irregularity,  the  absence  of  which 
is  hardly  compensated  by  any  beauties  of  our  modern 
architecture.  Such  a  scene,  dimly  vanishing  from  the 
eye  by  the  ray  of  here  and  there  a  tallow  candle,  glim- 
mering through  the  small  panes  of  scattered  windows, 
would  form  a  sombre  contrast  to  the  street  as  I  beheld 
it,  with  the  gaslights  blazing  from  corner  to  corner,  nam- 
ing within  the  shops,  and  throwing  a  noonday  brightness 
through  the  huge  plates  of  glass. 

But  the  black,  lowering  sky,  as  I  turned  my  eyes 
upward,  wore,  doubtless,  the  same  visage  as  when  it 
frowned  upon  the  ante-Revolutionary  New-Englanders. 
The  wintry  blast  had  the  same  shriek  that  was  familiar 
to  their  ears.  The  Old  South  Church,  too,  still  pointed 
its  antique  spire  into  the  darkness,  and  was  lost  between 
earth  and  heaven ;  and  as  I  passed,  its  clock,  which  had 
warned  so  many  generations  how  transitory  was  their 
lifetime,  spoke  heavily  and  slow  the  same  unregarded 
moral  to  myself.  "  Only  seven  o'clock,"  thought  I. 
"  My  old  friend's  legends  will  scarcely  kill  the  hours 
'twixt  this  and  bedtime." 

Passing  through  the  narrow  arch,  I  crossed  the  court- 
yard, the  confined  precincts  of  which  were  made  visible 
by  a  lantern  over  the  portal  of  the  Province  House.  On, 
entering  the  bar-room,  I  found,  as  I  expected,  the  old 
tradition-monger  seated  by  a  special  good  fire  of  anthra- 
cite, compelling  clouds  of  smoke  from  a  corpulent  cigar. 
He  recognized  me  with  evident  pleasure ;  for  my  rare 
properties  as  a  patient  listener  invariably  make  me  a 
favorite  with  elderly  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  narrative 
propensities.  Drawing  a  chair  to  the  fire,  I  desired 
mine  host  to  favor  us  with  a  glass  apiece  of  whiskey 


28  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

punch,  which  was  speedily  prepared,  steaming  hot,  with 
a  slice  of  lemon  at  the  bottom,  a  dark  red  stratum  of 
port  wine  upon  the  surface,  and  a  sprinkling  of  nutmeg 
strewn  over  all.  As  we  touched  our  glasses  together, 
my  legendary  friend  made  himself  known  to  me  as  Mr. 
Bela  Tiffany ;  and  I  rejoiced  at  the  oddity  of  the  name, 
because  it  gave  his  image  and  character  a  sort  of  individ- 
uality in  my  conception.  The  old  gentleman's  draught 
acted  as  a  solvent  upon  his  memory,  so  that  it  over- 
flowed with  tales,  traditions,  anecdotes  of  famous  dead 
people,  and  traits  of  ancient  manners,  some  of  which 
were  childish  as  a  nurse's  lullaby,  while  others  might 
have  been  worth  the  notice  of  the  grave  historian. 
Nothing  impressed  me  more  than  a  story  of  a  black  mys- 
terious picture,  which  used  to  hang  in  one  of  the  cham- 
bers of  the  Province  House,  directly  above  the  room 
where  we  were  now  sitting.  The  following  is  as  correct 
a  version  of  the  fact  as  the  reader  would  be  likely  to  ob- 
tain from  any  other  source,  although,  assuredly,  it  has  a 
tinge  of  romance  approaching  to  the  marvellous. 


In  one  of  the  apartments  of  the  Province  House  there 
was  long  preserved  an  ancient  picture,  the  frame  of 
which  was  as  black  as  ebony,  and  the  canvas  itself  so 
dark  with  age,  damp,  and  smoke,  that  not  a  touch  of  the 
painter's  art  could  be  discerned.  Time  had  thrown  an 
impenetrable  veil  over  it,  and  left  to  tradition  and  fable 
and  conjecture  to  say  what  had  once  been  there  por- 
trayed. During  the  rule  of  many  successive  governors 
it  had  hung,  by  prescriptive  and  undisputed  right,  over 
the  mantel-piece  of  the  same  chamber ;  and  it  still  kept 
its  place  when  Lieutenant-Governor  Hutchinson  assumed 


EDWARD    RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  29 

the  administration  of  the  province,  on  the  departure  of 
Sir  Francis  Bernard. 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  sat,  one  afternoon,  resting 
his  head  against  the  carved  back  of  his  stately  arm-chair, 
and  gazing  up  thoughtfully  at  the  void  blackness  of  the 
picture.  It  was  scarcely  a  time  for  such  inactive  musing, 
when  affairs  of  the  deepest  moment  required  the  ruler's 
decision ;  for,  within  that  very  hour,  HutchinsoH  had  re- 
ceived intelligence  of  the  arrival  of  a  British  fleet,  bring- 
ing three  regiments  from  Halifax  to  overawe  the  in- 
subordination of  the  people.  These  troops  awaited  his 
permission  to  occupy  the  fortress  of  Castle  William  and 
the  town  itself.  Yet,  instead  of  affixing  his  signature  to 
an  official  order,  there  sat  the  Lieutenant-Governor,  so 
carefully  scrutinizing  the  black  waste  of  canvas,  that  Ms 
demeanor  attracted  the  notice  of  two  young  persons  who 
attended  him.  One,  wearing  a  military  dress  of  buff, 
was  his  kinsman,  Francis  Lincoln,  the  Provincial  Cap- 
tain of  Castle  William  ;  the  other,  who  sat  on  a  low  stool 
beside  his  chair,  was  Alice  Vane,  his  favorite  niece. 

She  was  clad  entirely  in  white,  a  pale,  ethereal  crea- 
ture, who,  though  a  native  of  New  England,  had  been' 
educated  abroad,  and  seemed  not  merely  a  stranger  from 
another  clime,  but  almost  a  being  from  another  world. 
For  several  years,  until  left  an  orphan,  she  had  dwelt 
with  her  father  in  sunny  Italy,  and  there  had  acquired  a 
taste  and  enthusiasm  for  sculpture  and  painting,  which 
she  found  few  opportunities  of  gratifying  in  the  undeco- 
rated  dwellings  of  the  colonial  gentry.  It  was  said  that 
the  early  productions  of  her  own  pencil  exhibited  no 
inferior  genius,  though,  perhaps,  the  rude  atmosphere  of 
New  England  had  cramped  her  hand,  and  dimmed  the 
glowing  colors  of  her  fancy.  But  observing  her  uncle's 
steadfast  gaze,  which  appeared  to  search  through  the  mist 


30  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  years  to  discover  the  subject  of  the  picture,  her  curi- 
osity was  excited. 

"  Is  it  known,  my  dear  uncle,"  inquired  she,  "  what 
this  old  picture  once  represented?  Possibly,  could  it 
be  made  visible,  it  might  prove  a  masterpiece  of  some 
great  artist;  else,  why  has  it  so  long  held  such  a  con- 
spicuous place  ? " 

As  her  uncle,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom  (for  he 
was  as  attentive  to  all  the  humors  and  caprices  of 
Alice  as  if  she  had  been  his  own  best-beloved  child), 
did  not  immediately  reply,  the  young  captain  of  Castle 
William  took  that  office  upon  himself. 

"This  dark  old  square  of  canvas,  my  fair  cousin," 
said  he,  "  has  been  an  heirloom  in  the  Province  House 
from  time  immemorial.  As  to  the  painter,  I  can  tell  you 
nothing ;  but  if  half  the  stories  told  of  it  be  true,  not 
one  of  the  great  Italian  masters  has  ever  produced  so 
marvellous  a  piece  of  work  as  that  before  you." 

Captain  Lincoln  proceeded  to  relate  some  of  the 
strange  fables  and  fantasies,  which,  as  it  was  impossible 
to  refute  them  by  ocular  demonstration,  had  grown  to 
be  articles  of  popular  belief,  in  reference  to  this  old 
picture.  One  of  the  wildest,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
best  accredited  accounts,  stated  it  to  be  an  original  and 
authentic  portrait  of  the  Evil  One,  taken  at  a  witch 
meeting  near  Salem;  and  that  its  strong  and  terrible 
resemblance  had  been  confirmed  by  several  of  the  con- 
fessing wizards  and  witches,  at  their  trial,  in  open  court. 
It  was  likewise  affirmed  that  a  familiar  spirit,  or  demon, 
abode  behind  the  blackness  of  the  picture,  and  had  shown 
himself,  at  seasons  of  public  calamity,  to  more  than  one 
of  the  royal  governors.  Shirley,  for  instance,  had  be- 
held this  ominous  apparition,  on  the  eve  of  General 
Abercrombie's  shameful  and  bloody  defeat  under  the 


EDWAED    RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  31 

•walls  of  Ticonderoga.  Many  of  the  servants  of  the 
Province  House  had  caught  glimpses  of  a  visage  frown- 
ing down  upon  them,  at  morning  or  evening  twilight, 
or  in  the  depths  of  night,  while  raking  up  the  fire  that 
glimmered  on  the  hearth  beneath ;  although,  if  any  were 
bold  enough  to  hold  a  torch  before  the  pictuije,  it  would 
appear  as  black  and  undistinguishable  as  ever.  The  old- 
est inhabitant  of  Boston  recollected  that  his  father,  in 
whose  days  the  portrait  had  not  wholly  faded  out  of 
sight,  had  once  looked  upon  it,  bnt  would  never  suffer 
himself  to  be  questioned  as  to  the  face  which  was  there 
represented.  In  connection  with  such  stories,  it  was 
remarkable  that  over  the  top  of  the  frame  there  were 
some  ragged  remnants  of  black  silk,  indicating  that  a 
veil  had  formerly  hung  down  before  the  picture,  until 
the  duskiness  of  time  had  so  effectually  concealed  it. 
But,  after  all,  it  was  the  most  singular  part  of  the  affair, 
that  so  many  of  the  pompous  governors  of  Massachu- 
setts had  allowed  the  obliterated  picture  to  remain  in 
the  state  chamber  of  the  Province  House. 

"  Some  of  these  fables  are  really  awful,"  observed 
Alice  Vane,  who  had  occasionally  shuddered,  as  well  as 
smiled,  while  her  cousin  spoke.  "It  would  be  almost 
worth  while  to  wipe  away  the  black  surface  of  the 
canvas,  since  the  original  picture  can  hardly  be  so  for- 
midable as  those  which  fancy  paints  instead  of  it." 

"  But  would  it  be  possible,"  inquired  her  cousin,  "to 
restore  this  dark  picture  to  its  pristine  hues  ?  " 

"  Such  arts  are  known  in  Italy,"  said  Alice. 

The  Licutenant-Crovernor,  had  roused  himself  from 
his  abstracted  mood,  and  listened  with  a  smile  to  the 
conversation  of  his  young  relatives.  Yet  his  voice  had 
something  peculiar  in  its  tones,  when  he  undertook  the 
explanation  of  the  mystery. 


32  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Alice,  to  destroy  your  faith  in  the 
legends  of  which  you  are  so  fond,"  remarked  he ;  "  but 
my  antiquarian  researches  have  long  since  made  me 
acquainted  with  the  subject  of  this  picture,  —  if  picture 
it  can  be  called, — which  is  no  more  visible,  nor  ever 
will  be,  than  the  face  of  the  long-buried  man  whom  it 
once  represented.  It  was  the  portrait  of  Edward  Ran- 
dolph, the  founder  of  this  house,  a  person  famous  in 
the  history  of  New  England." 

"  Of  that  Edward  Randolph,"  exclaimed  Captain  Lin- 
coln, "who  obtained  «the  repeal  of  the  first  provincial 
charter,  under  which  our  forefathers  had  enjoyed  almost 
democratic  privileges !  He  that  was  styled  the  arch- 
enemy of  New  England,  and  whose  memory  is  still  held 
in  detestation,  as  the  destroyer  of  our  liberties !  " 

"  It  was  the  same  Randolph,"  answered  Hutchinson, 
moving  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "  It  was  his  lot  to  taste 
the  bitterness  of  popular  odium." 

"  Our  anuals  tell  us,"  continued  the  Captain  of  Cas- 
tle William,  "  that  the  curse  of  the  people  followed  this 
Randolph  where  he  went,  and  wrought  evil  in  all  the 
subsequent  events  of  his  life,  and  that  its  effect  was 
seen  likewise  in  the  manner  of  his  death.  They  say, 
too,  that  the  inward  misery  of  that  curse  worked  itself 
outward,  and  was  visible  on  the  wretched  man's  coun- 
tenance, making  it  too  horrible  to  be  looked  upon.  If 
so,  and  if  this  picture  trnly  represented  his  aspect,  it 
was  in  mercy  that  the  cloud  of  blackness  has  gathered 
over  it." 

"These  traditions  are  folly,  to  one  who  has  proved, 
as  I  have,  how  little  of  historic  truth  lies  at  the  bottom," 
said  the  Lieutenant-Governor.  "  As  regards  the  life  and 
character  of  Edward  Randolph,  too  implicit  credence  has 
been  given  to  Dr.  Cotton  Mather,  who  —  I  must  say  it, 


EDAVARD    RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  33 

though  some  of  his  blood  runs  in  my  veins — has  filled 
our  early  history  with  old  women's  tales,  as  fanciful  and 
extravagant  as  those  of  Greece  or  Rome." 

"And  yet,"  whispered  Alice  Vane,  "may  not  such 
fables  have  a  moral  ?  And,  methinks,  if  the  visage 
of  this  portrait  be  so  dreadful,  it  is  not  without  a 
caiise  that  it  has  hung  so  long  in  a  chamber  of  the 
Province  House.  When  the  rulers  feel  themselves  irre- 
sponsible, it  were  well  that  they  should  be  reminded  of 
the  awful  weight  of  a  people's  curse." 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  started,  and  gazed  for  a  mo- 
ment at  his  niece,  as  if  her  girlish  fantasies  had  struck 
upon  some  feeling  in  his  own  breast,  which  all  his  pol- 
icy or  principles  could  not  entirely  subdue.  He  knew, 
indeed,  that  Alice,  in  spite  of  her  foreign  education, 
retained  the  native  sympathies  of  a  New  England  girl. 

"  Peace,  silly  child,"  cried  he,  at  last,  more  harshly 
than  he  had  ever  before  addressed  the  gentle  Alice. 
"  The  rebuke  of  a  king  is  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the 
clamor  of  a  wild,  misguided  multitude.  Captain  Lincoln, 
it  is  decided.  The  fortress  of  Castle  William  must  be 
occupied  by  the  Royal  troops.  The  two  remaining  regi- 
ments shall  be  billeted  in  the  town,  or  encamped  upon 
the  Common.  It  is  time,  after  years  of  tumult,  and 
almost  rebellion,  that  his  Majesty's  government  should 
have  a  wall  of  strength  about  it." 

"  Trust,  sir,  —  trust  yet  awhile  to  the  loyalty  of  the 
people,"  said  Captain  Lincoln;  "nor  teach  them  that 
they  can  ever  be  on  other  terms  with  British  soldiers 
than  those  of  brotherhood,  as  when  they  fought  side  by 
side  through  the  French  war.  Do  not  convert  the  streets 
of  your  native  town  into  a  camp.  Think  twice  before  you 
give  up  old  Castle  William,  the  key  of  the  province,  into 
other  keeping  than  that  of  true-born  New-Englanders." 
2*  C 


34  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  Young  man,  it  is  decided,"  repeated  Hutchinson, 
rising  from  his  chair.  "  A  British  officer  will  be  iu 
attendance  this  evening  to  receive  the  necessary  instruc- 
tions for  the  disposal  of  the  troops.  Your  presence  also 
will  be  required.  Till  then,  farewell." 

With  these  words  the  Lieutenant-Governor  hastily  left 
the  room,  while  Alice  and  her  cousin  more  slowly  fol- 
lowed, whispering  together,  and  once  pausing  to  glance 
back  at  the  mysterious  picture.  The  Captain  of  Castle 
William  fancied  that  the  girl's  air  and  mien  were  such  as 
might  have  belonged  to  one  of  those  spirits  of  fable  — 
fairies,  or  creatures  of  a  more  antique  mythology  —  who 
sometimes  mingled  their  agency  with  mortal  affairs,  half 
in  caprice,  yet  with  a  sensibility  to  human  weal  or  woe. 
As  he  held  the  door  for  her  to  pass,  Alice  beckoned  to 
the  picture  and  smiled. 

"  Come  forth,  dark  and  evil  Shape !  "  cried  she.  "  It 
is  thine  hour !  " 

In  the  evening,  Lieutenant-Governor  Hutchinson  sat 
in  the  same  chamber  where  the  foregoing  scene  had 
occurred,  surrounded  by  several  persons  whose  various 
interests  had  summoned  them  together.  There  were  the 
Selectmen  of  Boston,  plain,  patriarchal  fathers  of  the 
people,  excellent  representatives  of  the  old  puritanical 
founders,  whose  sombre  strength  had  stamped  so  deep 
an  impress  upon  the  New  England  character.  Contrast- 
ing with  these  were  one  or  two  members  of  Council, 
richly  dressed  in  the  white  wigs,  the  embroidered  waist- 
coats, and  other  magnificence  of  the  time,  and  making  a 
somewhat  ostentatious  display  of  courtier-like  ceremonial. 
In  attendance,  likewise,  was  a  major  of  the  British  army, 
awaiting  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  orders  for  the  laud- 
ing of  the  troops,  which  still  remained  on  board  the 
transports.  The  Captain  of  Castle  William  stood  beside 


EDWARD    RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  35 

Hutchinson's  chair,  with  folded  arms,  glancing  rather 
haughtily  at  the  British  officer,  by  whom  he  was  soon  to 
be  superseded  in  his  command.  Ou  a  table,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  chamber,  stood  a  branched  silver  candlestick, 
throwing  down  the  glow  of  half  a  dozen  wax-lights  upon 
a  paper  apparently  ready  for  the  Lieutenant-Governor's 
signature. 

Partly  shrouded  in  the  voluminous  folds  of  one  of  the 
window-curtains,  which  fell  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor, 
was  seen  the  white  drapery  of  a  lady's  robe.  It  may 
appear  strange  that  Alice  Vane  should  have  been  there, 
at  such  a  time ;  but  there  was  something  so  childlike,  so 
wayward,  in  her  singular  character,  so  apart  from  ordi- 
nary rules,  that  her  presence  did  not  surprise  the  few  who 
noticed  it.  Meantime,  the  chairman  of  the  Selectmen 
was  addressing  to  the  Lieutenant-Governor  a  long  and 
solemn  protest  against  the  reception  of  the  British  troops 
into  the  town. 

"And  if  your  Honor,"  concluded  this  excellent  but 
somewhat  prosy  old  gentleman,  "shall  see  fit  to  persist 
in  bringing  these  mercenary  sworders  and  musketeers 
into  our  quiet  streets,  not  on  our  heads  be  the  responsi- 
bility. Think,  sir,  while  there  is  yet  time,  that  if  one 
drop  of  blood  be  shed,  that  blood  shall  be  an  eternal 
stain  upon  your  Honor's  memory.  You,  sir,  have  writ- 
ten, with  an  able  pen,  the  deeds  of  our  forefathers.  The 
more  to  be  desired  is  it,  therefore,  that  yourself  should 
deserve  honorable  mention,  as  a  true  patriot  and  upright 
ruler,  when  your  own  doings  shall  be  written  down  in 
history." 

"  I  am  not  insensible,  my  good  sir,  to  the  natural  de- 
sire to  stand  well  in  the  annals  of  my  country,"  replied 
Hutchiuson,  controlling  his  impatience  into  courtesy, 
"  nor  know  I  any  better  method  of  attaining  that  end 


36  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

than  by  withstanding  the  merely  temporary  spirit  of 
mischief,  which,  with  your  pardon,  seems  to  have  infected 
elder  men  than  myself.  Would  you  have  me  wait  till 
the  mob  shall  sack  the  Province  House,  as  they  did  my 
private  mansion?  Trust  me,  sir,  the  time  may  come 
when  you  will  be  glad  to  flee  for  protection  to  the  King's 
banner,  the  raising  of  which  is  now  so  distasteful  to  you." 

"Yes,"  said  the  British  major,  who  was  impatiently 
expecting  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  orders.  "  The  dem- 
agogues of  this  province  have  raised  the  devil,  and  cannot 
lay  him  again.  We  will  exorcise  him,  in  God's  name 
and  the  King's." 

"  If  you  meddle  with  the  Devil,  take  care  of  his  claws ! " 
answered  the  Captain  of  Castle  William,  stirred  by  the 
taunt  against  his  countrymen. 

*l  Craving  your  pardon,  young  sir,"  said  the  venerable 
Selectman,  "  let  not  an  evil  spirit  enter  into  your  words. 
We  will  strive  against  the  oppressor  with  prayer  and 
fasting,  as  our  forefathers  would  have  done.  Like  them, 
moreover,  we  will  submit  to  whatever  lot  a  wise  Provi- 
dence may  send  us,  —  always,  after  our  own  best  exer- 
tions to  amend  it." 

"And  there  peep  forth  the  Devil's  claws!  "  muttered 
Hutchinson,  who  well  understood  the  nature  of  Puritan 
submission.  "  This  matter  shall  be  expedited  forthwith. 
When  there  shall  be  a  sentinel  at  every  corner,  and  a 
court  of  guard  before  the  town-house,  a  loyal  gentleman 
may  venture  to  walk  abroad.  What  to  me  is  the  outcry 
of  a  mob,  in  this  remote  province  of  the  realm  ?  The 
King  is  my  master,  and  England  is  my  country !  Upheld 
by  their  armed  strength,  I  set  my  foot  upon  the  rabble, 
and  defy  them  !  " 

He  snatched  a  pen,  and  was  about  to  affix  his  signature 
to  the  paper  that  lay  on  the  table,  when  the  Captain  of 


EDWARD   RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  37 

Castle  William  placed  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  The 
freedom  of  the  action,  so  contrary  to  the  ceremonious 
respect  which  was  then  considered  due  to  rank  and  dig- 
nity, awakened  general  surprise,  and  in  none  more  than 
in  the  Lieutenant-Governor  himself.  Looking  angrily 
up,  he  perceived  that  his  young  relative  was  pointing  his 
finger  to  the  opposite  wall.  Hutchinson's  eye  followed 
the  signal ;  and  he  saw,  what  had  hitherto  been  unob- 
served, that  a  black  silk  curtain  was  suspended  before 
the  mysterious  picture,  so  as  completely  to  conoeal  it. 
His  thoughts  immediately  recurred  to  the  scene  of  the  pre- 
ceding afternoon ;  and,  in  his  surprise,  confused  by  indis- 
tinct emotions,  yet  sensible  that  his  niece  must  have  had 
an  agency  in  this  phenomenon,  he  called  loudly  upon  her. 

"  Alice !  —  come  hither,  Alice  !  " 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  Alice  Vane  glided  from 
her  station,  and  pressing  one  hand  across  her  eyes,  with 
the  other  snatched  away  the  sable  curtain  that  concealed 
the  portrait.  An  exclamation  of  surprise  burst  from 
every  beholder ;  but  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  voice  had 
a  tone  of  horror. 

"By  Heaven,"  said  he,  in  a  low,  inward  murmur, 
speaking  rather  to  himself  than  to  those  around  him,  "  if 
the  spirit  of  Edward  Randolph  were  to  appear  among  us 
from  the  place  of  torment,  he  could  not  wear  more  of  the 
terrors  of  hell  upon  his  face !  " 

"For  some  wise  end,"  said  the  aged  Selectman,  sol- 
emnly, "  hath  Providence  scattered  away  the  mist  of  years 
that  had  so  long  hid  this  dreadful  effigy.  Until  this  hour 
no  living  man  hath  seen  what  we  behold !  " 

Within  the  antique  frame,  which  so  recently  had  en- 
closed a  sable  waste  of  canvas,  now  appeared  a  visible 
picture,  still  dark,  indeed,  in  its  hues  and  shadings,  but 
thrown  forward  in  .strong  relief.  It  was  a  half-length 


38  TWICE-TOLD  TALES. 

figure  of  a  gentleman  in  a  rich,  but  very  old-fashioned 
dress  of  embroidered  velvet,  with  a  broad  ruff  and  a 
beard,  and  wearing  a  hat,  the  brim  of  which  over- 
shadowed his  forehead.  Beneath  this  cloud  the  eyes  had 
a  peculiar  glare  which  was  almost  life-like.  The  whole 
portrait  started  so  distinctly  out  of  the  background,  that 
it  had  the  effect  of  a  person  looking  down  from  the  wall 
at  the  astonished  and  awe-stricken  spectators.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  face,  if  any  words  can  convey  an  idea  of  it, 
was  that  of  a  wretch  detected  in  some  hideous  guilt,  and 
exposed  to  the  bitter  hatred  and  laughter  and  withering 
scorn  of  a  vast  surrounding  multitude.  There  was  the 
struggle  of  defiance,  beaten  down  and  overwhelmed  by 
the  crushing  weight  of  ignominy.  The  torture  of  the 
soul  had  come  forth  upon  the  countenance.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  picture,  while  hidden  behind  the  cloud  of  imme- 
morial years,  had  been  all  the  time  acquiring  an  intenser 
depth  and  darkness  of  expression,  till  now  it  gloomed 
forth  again,  and  threw  its  evil  omen  over  the  present 
hour.  Such,  if  the  wild  legend  may  be  credited,  was  the 
portrait  of  Edward  Randolph,  as  he  appeared  when  a 
people's  curse  had  wrought  its  influence  upon  his  nature. 

"  'T  would  drive  me  mad,  —  that  awful  face  !  "  said 
Hutchinson,  who  seemed  fascinated  by  the  contemplation 
of  it. 

"  Be  warned,  then !  "  whispered  Alice.  "  He  trampled 
on  a  people's  rights.  Behold  his  punishment,  —  and  avoid 
a  crime  like  his  !  " 

The  Lieutenant-Governor  actually  trembled  for  an  in- 
stant ;  but,  exerting  his  energy,  —  which  was  not,  how- 
ever, his  most  characteristic  feature,  —  he  strove  to  shake 
off  the  spell  of  Randolph's  countenance. 

"  Girl ! "  cried  he,  laughing  bitterly,  as  he  turned  to 
Alice,  "have  you  brought  hither  your  painter's  art, — 


EDWARD    RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT.  39 

your  Italian  spirit  of  intrigue,  — your  tricks  of  stage  effect, 
—  and  think  to  influence  the  councils  of  rulers  and  the 
affairs  of  nations  by  such  shallow  contrivances?  See 
here ! " 

"  Stay  yet  awhile,"  said  the  Selectman,  as  Hutchinson 
again  snatched  the  pen;  "for  if  ever  mortal  man  re- 
ceived a  warning  from  a  tormented  soul,  your  Honor  is 
that  man !  " 

"  Away !  "  answered  Hutchinson,  fiercely.  "  Though 
yonder  senseless  picture  cried,  '  Forbear ! '  it  should  not 
move  me !  " 

Casting  a  scowl  of  defiance  at  the  pictured  face  (which 
seemed,  at  that  moment,  to  intensify  the  horror  of  its 
miserable  and  wicked  look),  he  scrawled  on  the  paper, 
in  characters  that  betokened  it  a  deed  of  desperation, 
the  name  of  Thomas  Hutchinson.  Then,  it  is  said,  he 
shuddered,  as  if  that  signature  had  granted  away  his  sal- 
vation. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  he ;  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
brow. 

"  May  Heaven  forgive  the  deed,"  said  the  soft,  sad  ac- 
cents of  Alice  Vane,  like  the  voice  of  a  good  spirit  flitting 
away. 

When  morning  came  there  was  a  stifled  whisper 
through  the  household,  and  spreading  thence  about  the 
town,  that  the  dark,  mysterious  picture  had  started  from 
the  wall,  and  spoken  face  to  face  with  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor  Hutchinson.  If  such  a  miracle  had  been  wrought, 
however,  no  traces  of  it  remained  behind ;  for  within  the 
antique  frame,  nothing  could  be  discerned,  save  the  im- 
penetrable cloud  which  had  covered  the  canvas  since  the 
memory  of  man.  If  the  figure  had,  indeed,  stepped  forth, 
it  had  fled  back,  spirit-like,  at  the  daydawn,  and  hidden 
itself  behind  a  century's  obscurity.  The  truth  probably 


40  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

was,  that  Alice  Vane's  secret  for  restoring  the  hues  of 
the  picture  had  merely  effected  a  temporary  renovation. 
But  those  who,  in  that  brief  interval,  had  beheld  the  aw- 
ful visage  of  Edward  Randolph,  desired  no  second  glance, 
and  ever  afterwards  tremoled  at  the  recollection  of  the 
scene,  as  if  an  evil  spirit  had  appeared  visibly  among 
them.  And  as  for  Hutchinson,  when,  far  over  the  ocean, 
his  dying  hour  drew  on,  he  gasped  for  breath,  and  com- 
plained that  he  was  choking  with  the  blood  of  the  Boston 
massacre ;  and  Francis  Lincoln,  the  former  Captain  of 
Castle  William,  who  was  standing  at  his  bedside,  per- 
ceived a  likeness  in  his  frenzied  look  to  that  of  Edward 
Randolph.  Did  his  broken  spirit  feel,  at  that  dread  hour, 
the  tremendous  burden  of  a  People's  curse  P 


At  the  conclusion  of  this  miraculous  legend,  I  inquired 
of  mine  host  whether  the  picture  still  remained  in  the 
chamber  over  our  heads ;  but  Mr.  Tiffany  informed  me 
that  it  had  long  since  been  removed,  and  was  supposed 
to  be  hidden  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  New 
England  Museum.  Perchance  some  curious  antiquary 
may  light  upon  it  there,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  Mr. 
Howorth,  the  picture-cleaner,  may  supply  a  not  unneces- 
sary proof  of  the  authenticity  of  the  facts  here  set  down. 
During  the  progress  of  the  story  a  storm  had  been  gath- 
ering abroad,  and  raging  and  rattling  so  loudly  in  the 
upper  regions  of  the  Province  House,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  all  the  old  governors  and  great  men  were  running  riot 
above  stairs,  while  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany  babbled  of  them 
below.  In  the  course  of  generations,  when  many  people 
have  lived  and  died  in  an  ancient  house,  the  whistling  of 
the  wind  through  its  crannies,  and  the  creaking  of  its 


EDWAKD   RANDOLPH'S    PORTRAIT. 


41 


beams  and  rafters,  become  strangely  like  the  tones  of  the 
•human  voice,  or  thundering  laughter,  or  heavy  footsteps 
treading  the  deserted  chambers.  It  is  as  if  the  echoes 
of  half  a  century  were  revived.  Such  were  the  ghostly 
sounds  that  roared  and  murmured  in  our  ears,  when  I 
took  leave  of  the  circle  round  the  fireside  of  the  Province 
House,  and  plunging  down  the  doorsteps,  fought  my 
way  homeward  against  a  drifting  snow-storm. 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 


III. 


LADY  ELEANOBE'S  MANTLE. 

[NE  excellent  friend,  the  landlord  of  the  Province 
House,  was  pleased,  the  other  evening,  to  invite 
Mr.  Tiffany  and  myself  to  an  oyster-supper. 
This  slight  mark  of  respect  and  gratitude,  as  he  hand- 
somely observed,  was  far  less  than  the  ingenious  tale- 
teller, and  I,  the  humble  note-taker  of  his  narratives,  had 
fairly  earned,  by  the  public  notice  which  our  joint  lucu- 
brations had  attracted-  to  his  establishment.  Many  a 
cigar  had  been  smoked  within  his  premises,  —  many  a 
glass  of  wine,  or  more  potent  aqua  vitse,  had  been  quaffed, 
—  many  a  dinner  had  been  eaten  by  curious  strangers, 
who,  save  for  the  fortunate  conjunction  of  Mr.  Tiffany 
and  me,  would  never  have  ventured  through  that  dark- 
some avenue,  which  gives  access  to  the  historic  precincts 
of  the  Province  House.  In  short,  if  any  credit  be  due 
to  the  courteous  assurances  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  we 
had  brought  his  forgotten  mansion  almost  as  effectually 
into  public  view  as  if  we  had  thrown  down  the  vulgar 
range  of  shoe-shops  and  dry-goods  stores,  which  hides  its 
aristocratic  front  from  Washington  Street.  It  may  be 


LADiT   ELEANORE'S   MANTLE.  43 

unadvisable,  however,  to  speak  too  loudly  of  the  in- 
creased custom  of  the  house,  lest  Mr.  Waite  should  find 
it  difficult  to  renew  the  lease  on  so  favorable  terms  as 
heretofore. 

Being  thus  welcomed  as  benefactors,  neither  Mr.  Tiffany 
nor  myself  felt  any  scruple  in  doing  full  justice  to  the  good 
things  that  were  set  before  us.  If  the  feast  were  less 
magnificent  than  those  same  panelled  walls  had  witnessed 
in  a  bygone  century,  —  if  mine  host  presided  with  some- 
what less  of  state,  than  might  have  befitted  a  successor  of 
the  royal  governors,  —  if  the  guests  made  a  less  imposing 
show  than  the  bewigged  and  powdered  and  embroidered 
dignitaries,  who  erst  banqueted  at  the  gubernatorial  table, 
and  now  sleep  witliin  their  armorial  tombs  on  Copp's 
Hill  or  round  King's  Chapel,  —  yet  never,  I  may  boldly 
say,  did  a  more  comfortable  little  party  assemble  in  the 
Province  House,  from  Queen  Anne's  days  to  the  Revo- 
lution. The  occasion  was  rendered  more  interesting  by 
the  presence  of  a  venerable  personage,  whose  own  actual 
reminiscences  went  back  to  the  epoch  of  Gage  and  Howe, 
and  even  supplied  him  with  a  doubtful  anecdote  or  two 
of  Hutchinson.  He  was  one  of  that  small,  and  now  all 
but  extinguished  class,  whose  attachment  to  royalty,  and 
to  the  colonial  institutions  and  customs  that  were  con- 
nected with  it,  had  never  yielded  to  the  democratic  here- 
sies of  after  times.  The  young  queen  of  Britain  has  not 
a  more  loyal  subject  in  her  realm  —  perhaps  not  one  who 
would  kneel  before  her  throne  with  such  reverential  love 
• —  than  this  old  grandsire,  whose  head  has  whitened  be- 
neath the  mild  sway  of  the  Republic,  which  still,  in  his  mel- 
lower moments,  he  terms  a  usurpation.  Yet  prejudices 
so  obstinate  have  not  made  him  an  ungentle  or  impracti- 
cable companion.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  life  of 
the  aged  loyalist  has  been  of  such  a  scrambling  and  un- 


Ms  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

settled  character,  —  he  has  had  so  little  choice  of  friends, 
and  been  so  often  destitute  of  any,  —  that  I  doubt  whether 
he  would  refuse  a  cup  of  kindness  with  either  Oliver 
Cromwell  or  John  Hancock ;  to  say  nothing  of  any  demo- 
crat now  upon  the  stage.  In  another  paper  of  this  series, 
I  may  perhaps  give  the  reader  a  closer  glimpse  of  his 
portrait. 

Our  host,  in  due  season,  uncorked  a  bottle  of  Madeira, 
of  such  exquisite  perfume  and  admirable  flavor,  that  he 
surely  must  have  discovered  it  in  an  ancient  bin,  down 
deep  beneath  the  deepest  cellar,  where  some  jolly  old 
butler  stored  away  the  Governor's  choicest  wine,  and 
forgot  to  reveal  the  secret  on  his  death-bed.  Peace  to 
his  red-nosed  ghost,  and  a  libation  to  his  memory !  This 
precious  liquor  was  imbibed  by  Mr.  Tiffany  with  peculiar 
zest ;  and  after  sipping  the  third  glass,  it  was  his  pleasure 
to  give  us  one  of  the  oddest  legends  which  he  had  yet 
raked  from  the  storehouse  where  he  keeps  such  matters. 
With  some*  suitable  adornments  from  my  own  fancy,  it 
ran  pretty  much  as  follows. 


Not  long  after  Colonel  Shute  had  assumed  the  govern- 
ment of  Massachusetts  Bay,  now  nearly  a  hundred  and 
twenty  years  ago,  a  young  lady  of  rank  and  fortune  ar- 
rived from  England,  to  claim  his  protection  as  her  guar- 
dian. He  was  her  distant  relative,  but  the  nearest  who 
had  survived  the  gradual  extinction  of  her  family ;  so 
that  no  more  eligible  shelter  could  be  found  for  the  rich 
and  high-born  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe,  than  within  the 
Province  House  of  a  Transatlantic  colony.  The  consort 
of  Governor  Shute,  moreover,  had  been  as  a  mother  to 
her  childhood,  and  was  now  anxious  to  receive  her,  in  the 


LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  45 

hope  that  a  beautiful  young  woman  would  he  exposed  to 
infinitely  less  peril  from  the  primitive  society  of  New 
England,  than  amid  the  artifices  and  corruptions  of  a 
court.  If  either  the  Governor  or  his  lady  had  especially 
consulted  their  own  comfort,  they  would  probably  have 
sought  to  devolve  the  responsibility  on  other  hands; 
since  with  some  noble  and  splendid  traits  of  character, 
Lady  Eleanore  was  remarkable  for  a  harsh,  unyielding 
pride,  a  haughty  consciousness  of  her  hereditary  and 
personal  advantages,  which  made  her  almost  incapable  of 
control.  Judging  from  many  traditionary  anecdotes,  this 
peculiar  temper  was  hardly  less  than  a  monomania ;  or, 
if  the  acts  which  it  inspired  were  those  of  a  sane  person, 
it  seemed  due  from  Providence  that  pride  so  sinful  should 
be  followed  by  as  severe  a  retribution.  That  tinge  of  the 
marvellous,  which  is  thrown  over  so  many  of  these  half- 
forgotten  legends,  has  probably  imparted  an  additional 
wildness  to  the  strange  story  of  Lady  Eleanore  Roch- 
cliffe. 

The  ship  in  which  she  came  passenger  had  arrived  at 
Newport,  whence  Lady  Eleanore  was  conveyed  to  Boston 
in  the  Governor's  coach,  attended  by  a  small  escort  of 
gentlemen  on  horseback.  The  ponderous  equipage,  with 
its  four  black  horses,  attracted  much  notice  as  it  rumbled 
through  Cornhill,  surrounded  by  the  prancing  steeds  of 
half  a  dozen  cavaliers,  with  swords  dangling  to  their  stir- 
rups and  pistols  at  their  holsters.  Through  the  large 
glass  windows  of  the  coach,  as  it  rolled  along,  the  people 
could  discern  the  figure  of  Lady  Eleanore,  strangely  com- 
bining an  almost  queenly  stateliness  with  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  a  maiden  in  her  teens.  A  singular  tale  had 
gone  abroad  among  the  ladies  of  the  province,  that  their 
fair  rival  was  indebted  for  much  of  the  irresistible  charm 
of  her  appearance  to  a  certain  article  of  dress,  — an  em- 


46  TWJCE-TOLD    TALES. 

broidered  mantle,  —  which  had  been  wrought  by  the  most 
skilful  artist  in  London,  and  possessed  even  magical  prop- 
erties of  adornment.  On  the  present  occasion,  however, 
she  owed  nothing  to  the  witchery  of  dress,  being  clad  in 
a  riding-habit  of  velvet,  which  would  have  appeared  stiff 
and  ungraceful  on  any  other  form. 

The  coachman  reined  in  his  four  black  steeds,  and  the 
whole  cavalcade  came  to  a  pause  in  front  of  the  contorted 
iron  balustrade  that  fenced  the  Province  House  from  the 
public  street.  It  was  an  awkward  coincidence,  that  the 
bell  of  the  Old  South  was  just  then  tolling  for  a  funeral; 
so  that,  instead  of  a  gladsome  peal  with  which  it  was 
customary  to  announce  the  arrival  of  distinguished 
strangers,  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe  was  ushered  by  a 
doleful  clang,  as  if  calamity  had  come  embodied  in  her 
beautiful  person. 

"  A  very  great  disrespect !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  an  English  officer,  who  had  recently  brought  de- 
spatches to  Governor  Shute.  "  The  funeral  should  have 
been  deferred,  lest  Lady  Eleanore's  spirits  be  affected  by 
such  a  dismal  welcome." 

"  With  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  Dr.  Clarke,  a  physi- 
cian, and  a  famous  champion  of  the  popular  party, 
"  whatever  the  heralds  may  pretend,  a  dead  beggar  must 
have  precedence  of  a  living  queen.  King  Death  confers 
high  privileges." 

These  remarks  were  interchanged  while  the  speakers 
waited  a  passage  through  the  crowd,  which  had  gathered 
on  each  side  of  the  gateway,  leaving  an  open  avenue  to 
the  portal  of  the  Province  House.  A  black  slave  in  liv- 
ery npw  leaped  from  behind  the  coach,  and  threw  open 
the  door;  while  at  the  same  moment  Governor  Shute 
descended  the  flight  of  steps  from  his  mansion,  to  assist 
Lady  Eleanore  in  alighting.  But  the  Governor's  stately 


LADY    ELEANOEE'S    MANTLE.  4.7 

approach  was  anticipated  in  a  manner  that  excited  gen- 
eral astonishment/  A  pale  young  man,  with  his  black 
hair  all  in  disorder,  rushed  from  the  throng,  and  pros- 
trated himself  beside  the  coach,  thus  offering  his  person 
as  a  footstool  for  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe  to  tread 
upon.  She  held  back  an  instant ;  yet  with  an  expres- 
sion as  if  doubting  whether  the  young  man  were  worthy 
to  bear  the  weight  of  her  footstep,  rather  than  dissatis- 
fied to  receive  such  awful  reverence  from  a  fellow- 
mortal. 

"  Up,  sir,"  said  the  Governor,  sternly,  at  the  same 
time  lifting  his  cane  over  the  intruder.  "  What  means 
the  Bedlamite  by  this  freak  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Lady  Eleanore,  playfully,  but  with 
more  scorn  than  pity  in  her  tone,  "  your  Excellency  shall 
not  strike  him.  When  men  seek  only  to  be  trampled 
upon,  it  were  a  pity  to  deny  them  a  favor  so  easily 
granted  —  and  so  well  deserved  !  " 

Then,  though  as  lightly  as  a  sunbeam  on  a  cloud,  she 
placed  her  foot  upon  the  cowering  form,  and  extended  her 
hand  to  meet  that  of  the  Governor.  There  was  a  brief 
interval,  during  which  Lady  Eleauore  retained  this  atti- 
tude ;  and  never,  surely,  was  there  an  apter  emblem  of 
aristocracy  and  hereditary  pride  trampling  on  human 
sympathies  and  the  kindred  of  nature,  than  these  two 
figures  presented  at  that  moment.  Yet  the  spectators 
were  so  smitten  with  her  beauty,  and  so  essential  did 
pride  seem  to  the  existence  of  such  a  creature,  that  they 
gave  a  simultaneous  acclamation  of  applause. 

"  Who  is  this  insolent  young  fellow  ?  "  inquired  Cap- 
tain Langford,  who  still  remained  beside  Dr.  Clarke. 
"  If  he  be  in  his  senses,  his  impertinence  demands  the 
bastinado.  If  mad,  Lady  Eleanore  should  be  secured 
from  further  inconvenience,  by  his  confinement." 


48  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"His  name  is  Jervase  Helwyse,"  answered  the  Doc- 
tor ;  "  a  youth  of  no  birth  or  fortune,  or  other  advan- 
tages, save  the  mind  and  soul  that  nature  gave  him ; 
and  being  secretary  to  our  colonial  agent  in  London,  it 
was  his  misfortune  to  meet  this  Lady  Eleanore  Roch- 
cliffe.  He  loved  her,  —  and  her  scorn  has  driven  him 
mad." 

"He  was  mad  so  to  aspire,"  observed  the  English 
officer. 

"It  may  be  so,"  said  Dr.  Clarke,  frowning  as  he 
spoke.  "  But  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  could  wellnigh  doubt  the 
justice  of  the  Heaven  above  us,  if  no  signal  humiliation 
overtake  this  lady,  who  now  treads  so  haughtily  into 
yonder  mansion.  She  seeks  to  place  herself  above  the 
sympathies  of  our  common  nature,  which  envelops  all 
human  souls.  See,  if  that  nature  do  not  assert  its  claim 
over  her  in  some  mode  that  shall  bring  her  level  with 
the  lowest ! " 

"  Never !  "  cried  Captain  Laugford,  indignantly ;  "  nei- 
ther in  life,  nor  when  they  lay  her  with  her  ances- 
tors." 

Not  many  days  afterwards  the  Governor  gave  a  ball 
in  honor  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe.  The  principal 
gentry  of  the  colony  received  invitations,  which  were 
distributed  to  their  residences,  far  and  near,  by  messen- 
gers on  horseback,  bearing  missives  sealed  with  all  the 
formality  of  official  despatches.  In  obedience  to  the 
summons,  there  was  a  general  gathering  of  rank,  wealth, 
and  beauty ;  and  the  wide  door  of  the  Province  House 
had  seldom  given  admittance  to  more  numerous  and 
honorable  guests  than  on  Jhe  evening  of  Lady  Eleanore's 
ball.  Without  much  extravagance  of  eulogy,  the  spectacle 
might  even  be  termed  splendid;  for,  according  to  the 
fashion  of  the  times,  the  ladies  shone  in  rich  silks  and 


LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  49 

satins,  outspread  over  wide-projecting  hoops ;  and  the 
gentlemen  glittered  in  gold  embroidery,  laid  unsparingly 
upon  the  purple,  or  scarlet,  or  sky-blue  velvet,  which 
was  the  material  of  their  coats  and  waistcoats.  The  lat- 
ter article  of  dress  was  of  great  importance,  since  it  en- 
veloped the  wearer's  body  nearly  to  the  knees,  and  was 
perhaps  bedizened  with  the  amount  of  his  whole  year's 
income,  in  golden  flowers  and  foliage.  The  altered  taste 
of  the  present  day  —  a  taste  symbolic  of  a  deep  change 
in  the  whole  system  of  society  —  would  look  upon  almost 
any  of  those  gorgeous  figures  as  ridiculous  ;  although  that 
evening  the  guests  sought  their  reflections  in  the  pier- 
glasses,  and  rejoiced  to  catch  their  own  glitter  amid  the 
glittering  crowd.  What  a  pity  that  one  of  the  stately 
mirrors  has  not  preserved  a  picture  of  the  scene,  which, 
by  the  very  traits  that  were  so  transitory,  might  have 
taught  us  much  that  would  be  worth  knowing  and  re- 
membering ! 

Would,  at  least,  that  either  painter  or  mirror  could 
convey  to  us  some  faint  idea  of  a  garment,  already  no- 
ticed in  this  legend,  —  the  Lady  Eleanore's  embroidered 
mantle,  —  which  the  gossips  whispered  was  invested  with 
magic  properties,  so  as  to  lend  a  new  and  untried  grace 
to  her  figure  each  time  that  she  put  it  on !  Idle  fancy  as 
it  is,  this  mysterious  mantle  has  thrown  an  awe  around 
my  image  of  her,  partly  from  its  fabled  virtues,  and 
partly  because  it  was  the  handiwork  of  a  dying  woman, 
and,  perchance,  owed  the  fantastic  grace  of  its  concep- 
tion to  the  delirium  of  approaching  death. 

After  the  ceremonial  greetings  had  been  paid,  Lady 
Eleanorc  Ilochclifle  stood  apart  from  the  mob  of  guests, 
insulating  herself  within  a  small  and  distinguished  circle, 
to  whom  she  accorded  a  more  cordial  favor  than  to  the 
general  throng.  The  waxen  torches  threw  their  radiance 


50  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

vividly  over  the  scene,  bringing  out  its  brilliant  points  in 
strong  relief ;  but  she  gazed  carelessly,  and  with  now 
and  then  an  expression  of  weariness  or  scorn,  tempered 
with  such  feminine  grace,  that  her  auditors  scarcely  per- 
ceived the  moral  deformity  of  which  it  was  the  utterance. 
She  beheld  the  spectacle  not  with  vulgar  ridicule,  as  dis- 
daining to  be  pleased  with  the  provincial  mockery  of  a 
court  festival,  but  with  the  deeper  scorn  of  one  whose 
spirit  held  itself  too  high  to  participate  in  the  enjoyment 
of  other  human  souls.  Whether  or  no  the  recollections 
of  those  who  saw  her  that  evening  were  influenced  by 
the  strange  events  with  which  she  was  subsequently  con- 
nected, so  it  was  that  her  figure  ever  after  recurred  to 
them  as  marked  by  something  wild  and  unnatural ;  al- 
though, at  the  time,  the  general  whisper  was  of  her  ex- 
ceeding beauty,  and  of  the  indescribable  charm  which 
her  mantle  threw  around  her.  Some  close  observers,  in- 
deed, detected  a  feverish  flush  and  alternate  paleness  of 
countenance,  with  a  corresponding  flow  and  revulsion  of 
spirits,  and  once  or  twice  a  painful  and  helpless  betrayal 
of  lassitude,  as  if  she  were  on  the  point  of  sinking  to  the 
ground.  Then,  with  a  nervous  shudder,  she  seemed  to 
arouse  her  energies,  and  threw  some  bright  and  playful, 
yet  half-wicked  sarcasm  into  the  conversation.  There 
was  so  strange  a  characteristic  in  her  manners  and  sen- 
timents, that  it  astonished  every  right-minded  listener; 
till  looking  in  her  face,  a  lurking  and  incomprehensible 
glance  and  smile  perplexed  them  with  doubts  both  as  to 
her  seriousness  and  sanity.  Gradually,  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe's  circle  grew  smaller,  till  only  four  gentlemen 
remained  in  it.  These  were  Captain  Langford,  the  Eng- 
lish officer  before  mentioned;  a  Virginian  planter,  who 
Lad  come  to  Massachusetts  on  some  political  errand ;  a 
young  Episcopal  clergyman,  the  grandson  of  a  British 


LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  51 

Earl;  and  lastly,  the  private  secretary  of  Governor 
Shute,  whose  obsequiousness  had  won  a  sort  of  toler- 
ance from  Lady  Eleauore. 

At  different  periods  of  the  evening  the  liveried  ser- 
vants of  the  Province  House  passed  among  the  guests, 
bearing  huge  trays  of  refreshments,  and  French  and 
Spanish  wines.  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe,  who  refused 
to  wet  her  beautiful  lips  even  with  a  bubble  of  cham- 
pagne, had  sunk  back  into  a  large  damask  chair,  appar- 
ently overwearied  either  with  the  excitement  of  the 
scene  or  its  tedium ;  and  while,  for  an  instant,  she  was 
unconscious  of  voices,  laughter,  and  music,  a  young  man 
stole  forward,  and  knelt  down  at  her  feet.  He  bore  a 
salver  in  his  hand,  on  which  was  a  chased  silver  goblet, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  wine,  which  he  offered  as  rev- 
erentially as  to  a  crowned  queen,  or  rather  with  the 
awful  devotion  of  a  priest  doing  sacrifice  to  his  idol. 
Conscious  that  some  one  touched  her  robe,  Lady 
Eleanore  started,  and  unclosed  her  eyes  upon  the 
pale,  wild  features  and  dishevelled  hair  of  Jervase  Hel- 
wyse. 

"  Why  do  you  haunt  me  thus  ?  "  said  she,  in  a  languid 
tone,  but  with  a  kindlier  feeling  than  she  ordinarily  per- 
mitted herself  to  express.  "  They  tell  me  that  I  have 
done  you  harm." 

"  Heaven  knows  if  that  be  so,"  replied  the  young  man, 
solemnly.  "But,  Lady  Eleanore,  in  requital  of  that 
harm,  if  such  there  be,  and  for  your  own  earthly  and 
heavenly  welfare,  I  pray  you  to  take  one  sip  of  this  holy 
wine,  and  then  to  pass  the  goblet  round  among  the 
guests.  And  this  shall  be  a  symbol  that  you  have  not 
sought  to  withdraw  yourself  from  the  chain  of  human 
sympathies,  —  which  whoso  would  shake  off  must  keep 
company  with  fallen  angels." 


52  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

"  Where  has  this  mad  fellow  stolen  that  sacramental 
vessel  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Episcopal  clergyman. 

This  question  drew  the  notice  of  the  guests  to  the 
silver  cup,  which  was  recognized  as  appertaining  to  the 
communion  plate  of  the  Old  South  Church ;  and  for 
aught  that  could  be  known,  it  was  brimming  over  with 
the  consecrated  wine. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  poisoned,"  half  whispered  the  Govern- 
or's secretary. 

"  Pour  it  down  the  villain's  throat ! "  cried  the  Vir- 
ginian, fiercely. 

"  Turn  him  out  of  the  house !  "  cried  Captain  Lang- 
ford,  seizing  Jervase  Helwyse  so  roughly  by  the  shoulder 
that  the  sacramental  cup  was  overturned,  and  its  con- 
tents sprinkled  upon  Lady  Eleanore's  mantle.  "  Wheth- 
er knave,  fool,  or  Bedlamite,  it  is  intolerable  that  the 
fellow  should  go  at  large." 

"  Pray,  gentlemen,  do  my  poor  admirer  no  harm,"  said 
Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  faint  and  weary  smile.  "Take 
him  out  of  my  sight,  if  such  be  your  pleasure;  for  I 
can  find  in  my  heart  to  do  nothing  but  laugh  at  him; 
whereas,  in  all  decency  and  conscience,  it  would  become 
me  to  weep  for  the  mischief  I  have  wrought !  " 

But  while  the  by-standers  were  attempting  to  lead 
away  the  unfortunate  young  man,  he  broke  from  them, 
and  with  a  wild,  impassioned  earnestness,  offered  a  new 
and  equally  strange  petition  to  Lady  Eleanore.  It  was 
no  other  than  that  she  should  throw  off  the  mantle, 
which,  while  he  pressed  the  silver  cup  of  wine  upon 
her,  she  had  drawn  more  closely  around  her  form,  so 
as  almost  to  shroud  herself  within  it. 

"  Cast  it  from  you !  "  exclaimed  Jervase  Helwyse,  clasp- 
ing his  hands  in  an  agony  of  entreaty.  "  It  may  not  yet 
be  too  late !  Give  the  accursed  garment  to  the  flames !  " 


LADY    ELEANORE'S   MANTLE.  53 

But  Lady  Eleanore,  with  a  laugh  of  scorn,  drew  the 
rich  folds  of  the  embroidered  mantle  over  her  head,  in 
such  a  fashion  as  to  give  a  completely  new  aspect  to 
her  beautiful  face,  which  —  half  hidden,  half  revealed  — 
seemed  to  belong  to  some  being  of  mysterious  character 
and  purposes. 

" Farewell,  Jervase  Helwyse !"  said  she.  "Keep  my 
image  in  your  remembrance,  as  you  behold  it  now." 

"  Alas,  lady ! "  he  replied,  in  a  tone  no  longer 
wild,  but  sad  as  a  funeral  bell.  "We  must  meet 
shortly,  when  your  face  may  wear  another  aspect ; 
and  that  shall  be  the  image  that  must,  abide  within 
me." 

He  made  no  more  resistance  to  the  violent  efforts  of 
the  gentlemen  and  servants,  who  almost  dragged  him 
out  of  the  apartment,  and  dismissed  him  roughly  from 
the  iron  gate  of  the  Province  House.  Captain  Langford, 
who  had  been  very  active  in  this  affair,  was  returning 
to  the  presence  of  Lady  Eleanore  Rochcliffe,  when  he 
encountered  the  physician,  Dr.  Clarke,  with  whom  he 
had  held  some  casual  talk  on  the  day  of  her  arrival. 
The  Doctor  stood  apart,  separated  from  Lady  Eleanore 
by  the  width  of  the  room,  but  eying  her  with  such  keen 
sagacity,  that  Captain  Langford  involuntarily  gave  him 
credit  for  the  discovery  of  some  deep  secret. 

"  You  appear  to  be  smitten,  after  all,  with  the  charms 
of  this  queenly  maiden,"  said  he,  hoping  thus  to  draw 
forth  the  physician's  hidden  knowledge. 

"  God  forbid ! "  answered  Dr.  Clarke,  with  a  grave 
smile ;  "  and  if  you  be  wise,  you  will  put  up  the  same 
prayer  for  yourself.  Woe  to  those  who  shall  be  smitten 
by  this  beautiful  Lady  Eleanore!  But  yonder  stands 
the  Governor,  and  I  have  a  word  or  two  for  his  pri- 
vate ear.  Good  night ! " 


54  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

He  accordingly  advanced  to  Governor  Shute,  and  ad- 
dressed him  in  so  low  a  tone  that  none  of  the  by-standers 
could  catch  a  word  of  what  he  said ;  although  the  sud- 
den change  of  his  Excellency's  hitherto  cheerful  visage 
betokened  that  the  communication  could  be  of  no  agree- 
able import.  A  very  few  moments  afterwards,  it  was 
announced  to  the  guests  that  an  unforeseen  circumstance 
rendered  it  necessary  to  put  a  premature  close  to  the 
festival. 

The  ball  at  the  Province  House  supplied  a  topic  of 
conversation  for  the  colonial  metropolis,  for  some  days 
after  its  occurrence,  and  might  still  longer  have  been 
the  general  meme,  only  that  a  subject  of  all-engrossing 
interest  thrust  it,  for  a  time,  from  the  public  recollec- 
tion. This  was  the  appearance  of  a  dreadful  epidemic, 
which,  in  that  age,  and  long  before  and  afterwards,  was 
wont^  to  slay  its  hundreds  and  thousands,  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  On  the  occasion  of  which  we  speak,  it 
was  distinguished  by  a  peculiar  virulence,  insomuch  that 
it  has  left  its  traces  —  its  pit-marks,  to  use  an  appro- 
priate figure  —  on  the  history  of  the  country,  the  affairs 
of  which  were  thrown  into  confusion  by  its  ravages.  At 
first,  unlike  its  ordinary  course,  the  disease  seemed  to 
confine  itself  to  the  higher  circles  of  society,  selecting 
its  victims  from  among  the  proud,  the  well-born,  and 
the  wealthy,  entering  unabashed  into  stately  chambers, 
and  lying  down  with  the  slumberers  in  silken  beds. 
Some  of  the  most  distinguished  guests  of  the  Province 
House  —  even  those  whom  the  haughty  Lady  Eleanore 
Rochcliffe  had  deemed  not  unworthy  of  her  favor  —  were 
stricken  by  this  fatal  scourge.  It  was  noticed,  with  an 
ungenerous  bitterness  of  feeling,  that  the  four  gentlemen 
—  the  Virginian,  the  British  officer,  the  young  clergy- 
man, and  the  Governor's  secretary  —  who  had  been  her 


LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  55 

most  devoted  attendants  on  the  evening  of  the  ball  were 
the  foremost  on  whom  the  plague-stroke  fell.  But  the 
disease,  pursuing  its  onward  progress,  soon  ceased  to  be 
exclusively  a  prerogative  of  aristocracy.  Its  red  brand 
was  no  longer  conferred,  like  a  noble's  star,  or  an  order 
of  knighthood.  It  threaded  its  way  through  the  Harrow 
and  crooked  streets,  and  entered  the  low,  mean,  dark- 
some dwellings,  and  laid  its  hand  of  death  upon  the 
artisans  and  laboring  classes  of  the  town.  It  compelled 
rich  and  poor  to  feel  themselves  brethren,  then;  and 
stalking  to  and  fro  across  the  Three  Hills,  with  a  fierce- 
ness which  made  it  almost  a  new  pestilence,  there  was 
that  mighty  conqueror  —  that  scourge  and  horror  of  our 
forefathers  —  the  Small-Pox  ! 

We  cannot  estimate  the  affright  which  this  plague  in- 
spired of  yore,  by  contemplating  it  as  the  fangless  mon- 
ster of  the  present  day.  We  must  remember,  rather, 
with  what  awe  we  watched  the  gigantic  footsteps  of  the 
Asiatic  cholera,  striding  from  shore  to  shore  of  the  At- 
lantic, and  marching  like  destiny  upon  cities  far  remote, 
which  flight  had  already  half  depopulated.  There  is  no 
other  fear  so  horrible  and  unhumanizing,  as  that  which 
makes  man  dread  to  breathe  Heaven's  vital  air,  lest  it 
be  poison,  or  to  grasp  the  hand  of  a  brother  or  friend, 
lest  the  gripe  of  the  pestilence  should  clutch  him.  Such 
was  the  dismay  that  now  followed  in  the  track  of  the 
disease,  or  ran  before  it  throughout  the  town.  Graves 
were  hastily  dug,  and  the  pestilential  relics  as  hastily 
covered,  because  the  dead  were  enemies  of  the  living, 
and  strove  to  draw  them  headlong,  as  it  were,  into  their 
own  dismal  pit.  The  public  councils  were  suspended, 
as  if  mortal  wisdom  might  relinquish  its  devices,  now 
that  an  unearthly  usurper  had  found  his  way  into  the 
ruler's  mansion.  Had  an  enemy's  fleet  been  hovering 


56  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

on  the  coast,  or  his  armies  trampling  on  our  soil,  the 
people  would  probably  have  committed  their  defence  to 
that  same  direful  conqueror,  who  had  wrought  their  ovn 
calamity,  and  would  permit  no  interference  with  his 
sway.  This  conqueror  had  a  symbol  of  his  triumphs. 
It  was  a  blood-red  flag,  that  fluttered  in^the  tainted  air, 
over  the  door  of  every  dwelling  into  which  the  Small- 
Pox  had  entered. 

Such  a  banner  was  long  since  waving  over  the  portal 
of  the  Province  House ;  for  thence,  as  was  proved  by 
tracking  its  footsteps  back,  had  all  this  dreadful  mis- 
chief issued.  It  had  been  traced  back  to  a  lady's  luxu- 
rious chamber,  —  to  the  proudest  of  the  proud,  —  to  her 
that  was  so  delicate,  and  hardly  owned  herself  of  earthly 
mould,  —  to  the  haughty  one,  who  took  her  stand  above 
human  sympathies,  —  to  Lady  Eleanore  !  There  re- 
mained no  room  for  doubt,  that  the  contagion  had  lurked 
in  that  gorgeous  mantle,  which  threw  so  strange  a  grace 
around  her  at  the  festival.  Its  fantastic  splendor  had 
been  conceived  in  the  delirious  brain  of  a  woman  on  her 
death-bed,  and  was  the  last  toil  of  her  stiffening  fingers, 
which  had  interwoven  fate  and  misery  with  its  golden 
threads.  This  dark  tale,  whispered  at  first,  was  now 
bruited  far  and  wide.  The  people  raved  against  the 
Lady  Eleanore,  and  cried  out  that  her  pride*  and  scorn 
had  evoked  a  fiend,  and  that,  between  them  both,  this 
monstrous  evil  had  been  born.  At  times,  their  rage  and 
despair  took  the  semblance  of  grinning  mirth ;  and  when- 
ever the  red  flag  o£  the  pestilence  was  hoisted  over 
another,  and  yet  another  door,  they  clapped  their 
hands  and  shouted  through  the  streets  in  bitter  mock- 
ery, "Behold  a  new  triumph  for  the  Lady  Elea- 
nore ! " 

One  day,  in  the  midst  of  these  dismal  times,  a  wild 


LADY   ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  57 

figure  approached  the  portal  of  the  Province  House,  and 
folding  his  arms,  stood  contemplating  the  scarlet  banner, 
which  a  passing  breeze  shook  fitfully,  as  if  to  fling  abroad 
the  contagion  that  it  typified.  At  length,  climbing  one 
of  the  pillars  by  means  of  the  iron  balustrade,  he  took 
down  the  flag,  and  entered  the  mansion,  waving  it  above 
his  head.  At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  he  met  the  Gov- 
ernor, booted  and  spurred,  with  his  cloak  drawn  around 
him,  evidently  on  the  point  of  setting  forth  upon  a 
journey. 

"Wretched  lunatic,  what  do  you  seek  here?"  ex- 
claimed Shute,  extending  his  cane  to  guard  himself  from 
contact.  "  There  is  nothing  here  but  Death.  Back,  — 
or  you  will  meet  him  !  " 

"  Death  will  not  touch  me,  the  banner-bearer  of  the 
pestilence  !  "  cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  shaking  the  red  flag 
aloft.  "Death  and  the  Pestilence,  who  wears  the  as- 
pect of  the  Lady  Eleanore,  will  walk  through  the  streets 
to-night,  and  I  must  march  before  them  with  this  ban- 
ner ! " 

"Why  do  I  waste  words  on  the  fellow?"  muttered 
the  Governor,  drawing  his  cloak  across  his  mouth. 
"  What  matters  his  miserable  life,  when  none  of  us  are 
sure  of  twelve  hours'  breath  ?  On,  fool,  to  your  own 
destruction ! " 

He  made  way  for  Jervase  Helwyse,  who  immediately 
ascended  the  staircase,  but,  on  the  first  landing-place, 
was  arrested  by  the  firm  grasp  of  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  Looking  fiercely  up,  with  a  madman's  im- 
pulse to  struggle  with  and  rend  asunder  his  opponent, 
he  found  himself  powerless  beneath  a  calm,  stern  eye, 
which  possessed  the  mysterious  property  of  quelling 
frenzy  at  its  height.  The  person  whom  he  had  now 
encountered  was  the  physician,  Dr.  Clarke,  the  duties 
3* 


58  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

of  whose  sad  profession  had  led  him  to  the  Province 
House,  where  he  was  an  infrequent  guest  in  more  pros- 
perous times. 

"  Young  man,  what  is  your  purpose  ?  "  demanded  he. 

"  I  seek  the  Lady  Eleanore,"  answered  Jervase  Hel- 
wyse,  submissively. 

"  All  have  fled  from  her,"  said  the  physician.  "  Why 
do  you  seek  her  now  ?  I  tell  you,  youth,  her  nurse  fell 
death-stricken  on  the  threshold  of  that  fatal  chamber. 
Know  ye  not,  that  never  came  such  a  curse  to  our 
shores  as  this  lovely  Lady  Eleanore  ?  —  that  her  breath 
has  filled  the  air  with  poison  ?  —  that  she  has  shaken 
pestilence  and  death  upon  the  land,  from  the  folds  of  her 
accursed  mantle  ?  " 

"Let  me  look  upon  her!"  rejoined  the  mad  youth,, 
more  wildly.  "  Let  me  behold  her,  in  her  awful  beauty, 
clad  in  the  regal  garments  of  the  pestilence !  She  and 
Death  sit  on  a  throne  together.  Let  me  kneel  down  be- 
fore them ! " 

"  Poor  youth !  "  said  Dr.  Clarke ;  and,  moved  by  a 
deep  sense  of  human  weakness,  a  smile  of  caustic  hu- 
mor curled  his  lip  even  then.  "  Wilt  thou  still  worship 
the  destroyer,  and  surround  her  image  with  fantasies  the 
more  magnificent,  the  more  evil  she  has  wrought  ?  Thus 
man  doth  ever  to  his  tyrants  !  Approach;  then !  Mad- 
ness, as  I  have  noted,  has  that  good  efficacy,  that  it  will 
guard  you  from  contagion ;  and  perchance  its  own  cure 
may  be  found  in  yonder  chamber." 

Ascending  another  flight  of  stairs,  he  threw  open  a 
door,  and  signed  to  Jervase  Helwyse  that  he  should  en- 
ter. The  poor  lunatic,  it  seems  probable,  had  cherished 
a  delusion  that  his  haughty  mistress  sat  in  state,  un- 
harmed herself  by  the  pestilential  influence,  which,  as 
by  enchantment,  she  scattered  round  about  her.  He 


LADY   EI^EANOEE'S   MANTLE.  59 

dreamed,  no  doubt,  that  her  beauty  was  not  dimmed, 
but  brightened  into  superhuman  splendor.  With  such 
anticipations,  he  stole  reverentially  to  the  door  at  which 
the  physician  stood,  but  paused  upon  the  threshold, 
gazing  fearfully  into  the  gloom  of  the  darkened  cham- 
ber. 

"  Where  is  the  Lady  Eleanore  ?  "  whispered  he. 

"  Call  her,"  replied  the  physician. 

"  Lady  Eleanore  !  —  Princess  !  —  Queen  of  Death  !  " 
cried  Jervase  Helwyse,  advancing  three  steps  into  the 
chamber.  "  She  is  not  here  !  There,  on  yonder  table,  I 
behold  the  sparkle  of  a  diamond  which  once  she  wore 
upon  her  bosom.  There,"  —  and  he  shuddered,  — 
"  there  hangs  her  mantle,  on  which  a  dead  woman  em^ 
broidered  a. spell  of  dreadful  potency.  But  where  is  the 
Lady  Eleanore  ?  " 

Something  stirred  within  the  silken  curtains  of  a  cano- 
pied bed  ;  and  a  low  moan  was  uttered,  which,  listening 
intently,  Jervase  Helwyse  began  to  distinguish  as  a  wo- 
man's voice,  complaining  dolefully  of  thirst.  He  fancied, 
even,  that  he  recognized  its  tones. 

"My  throat!  —  my  throat  is  scorched,"  murmured 
the  voice.  "  A  drop  of  water !  " 

"  What  thing  art  thou  ? "  said  the  brain-stricken 
youth,  drawing  near  the  bed  and  tearing  asunder  its 
curtains.  "  Whose  voice  hast  thou  stolen  for  thy 
murmurs  and  miserable  petitions,  as  if  Lady  Eleanore 
could  be  conscious  of  mortal  infirmity  ?  Eie !  Heap 
of  diseased  mortality,  why  lurkest  thou  in  my  lady's 
chamber  ?  " 

"O  Jervase  Helwyse,"  said  the  voice, — and  as  it 
spoke,  the  figure  contorted  itself,  struggling  to  hide 
its  blasted  face,  —  "look  not  now  on  the  woman  you 
once  loved  !  The  curse  of  Heaven  hath  stricken  me, 


60  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

because  I  would  not  call  man  my  brother,  nor  woman 
sister.  I  wrapped  myself  in  PKIDE  as  in  a  MANTLE,  and 
scorned  the  sympathies  of  nature ;  and  therefore  has 
nature  made  this  wretched  body  the  medium  of  a  dread- 
ful sympathy.  You  are  avenged,  —  they  are  all  avenged, 
—  nature  is  avenged,  —  for  I  am  Eleanore  Roch- 
cliffe !  " 

The  malice  of  his  mental  disease,  the  bitterness 
lurking  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  mad  as  he  was, 
for  a  blighted  and  ruined  life,  and  love  that  had  been 
paid  with  cruel  scorn,  awoke  within  the  breast  of  Jer- 
vase  Helwyse.  He  shook  his  finger  at  the  wretched 
girl,  and  the  chamber  echoed,  the  curtains  of  the 
bed  were  shaken,  with  his  outburst  of  insane  merri- 
ment. 

"  Another  triumph  for  the  Lady  Eleanore  !  "  he  cried. 
"  All  have  been  her  victims  !  Who  so  worthy  to  be  the 
final  victim  as  herself  ?  " 

Impelled  by  some  new  fantasy  of  his  crazed  intellect, 
he  snatched  the  fatal  mantle  and  rushed  from  the  cham- 
ber and  the  house.  That  night,  a  procession  passed,  by 
torchlight*through  the  streets,  bearing  in  the  midst  the 
figure  of  a  woman,  enveloped  with  a  richly  embroidered 
mantle  ;  while  in  advance  stalked  Jervase  Helwyse,  wav- 
ing the  red  flag  of  the  pestilence.  Arriving  opposite  the 
Province  House,  the  mob  burned  the  effigy,  and  a  strong 
wind  came  and  swept  away  the  ashes.  It  was  said,  that, 
from  that  very  hour,  the  pestilence  abated,  as  if  its  sway 
had  some  mysterious  connection,  from  the  first  plague- 
stroke  to  the  last,  with  Lady  Eleanore's  Mantle.  A  re- 
markable uncertainty  broods  over  that  unhappy  lady's 
fate.  There  is  a  belief,  however,  that,  in  a  certain 
chamber  of  this  mansion,  a  female  form  may  sometimes  be 
duskily  discerned,  shrinking  into  the  darkest  corner,  and 


LADY    ELEANORE'S    MANTLE.  61 

muffling  her  face  within  an  embroidered  mantle.  Sup- 
posing the  legend  true,  can  this  be  other  than  the  once 
proud  Lady  Eleanore  ? 


Mine  host,  and  the  old  loyalist,  and  I  bestowed  no 
little  warmth  of  applause  upon  this  narrative,  in  which 
we  had  all  been  deeply  interested;  for  the  reader  can 
^scarcely  conceive  how  unspeakably  the  effect  of  such  a 
tale  is  heightened,  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  we  may 
repose  perfect  confidence  in  the  veracity  of  him  who 
tells  it.  For  my  own  part,  knowing  how  scrupulous 
is  Mr.  Tiffany  to  settle  the  foundation  of  his  facts,  I 
could  not  have  believed  him  one  whit  the  more  faith- 
fully, had  he  professed  himself  an  eye-witness  of  the 
doings  and  sufferings  of  poor  Lady  Eleanore.  Some 
sceptics,  it  is  true,  might  demand  documentary  evidence, 
or  even  require  him  to  produce  the  embroidered  mantle, 
forgetting  that  —  Heaven  be  praised  —  it  was  consumed 
to  ashes.  But  now  the  old  loyalist,  whose  blood  was 
warmed  by  the  good  cheer,  began  to  talk,  in  his  turn, 
about  the  traditions  of  the  Province  House,  and  hinted 
that  he,  if  it  were  agreeable,  might  add  a  few  reminis- 
cences to  our  legendary  stock.  Mr.  Tiffany,  having  no 
cause  to  dread  a  rival,  immediately  besought  him  to 
favor  us  with  a  specimen  ;  my  own  entreaties,  of  course, 
were  urged  to  the  same  effect ;  and  our  venerable  guest, 
well  pleased  to  find  willing  auditors,  awaited  only  the 
return  of  Mr.  Thomas  Waite,  who  had  been  summoned 
forth  to  provide  accommodations  for  several  new  arrivals. 
Perchance  the  public  —  but  be  this  as  its  own  caprice 
and  ours  shall  settle  the  matter  —  may  read  the  result 
in  another  Tale  of  the  Province  House. 


LEGENDS  OP  THE  PROVINCE  HOUSE. 


IV. 
OLD  ESTHER  DUDLEY. 

|UR,  host  having  resumed  the  chair,  he,  as  well 
as  Mr.  Tiffany  and  myself,  expressed  much 
eagerness  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  story 
to  which  the  loyalist  had  alluded.  That  venerable  man 
first  of  all  saw  fit  to  moisten  his  throat  with  another 
glass  of  wine,  and  then,  turning  his  face  towards  our 
coal-fire,  looked  steadfastly  for  a  few  moments  into  the 
depths  of  its  cheerful  glow.  Finally,  he  poured  forth  a 
great  fluency  of  speech.  The  generous  liquid  that  he 
had  imbibed,  while  it  warmed  his  age-chilled  blood,  like- 
wise took  off  the  chill  from  his  heart  and  mind,  and  gave 
him  an  energy  to  think  and  feel,  which  we  could  hardly 
have  expected  to  find  beneath  the  snows  of  fourscore 
winters.  His  feelings,  indeed,  appeared  to  me  more 
excitable  than  those  of  a  younger  man  ;  or,  at  least, 
the  same  degree  of  feeling  manifested  itself  by  more 
visible  effects,  than  if  his  judgment  and  will  had  pos- 
sessed the  potency  of  meridian  life.  At  the  pathetic 
passages  of  his  narrative,  he  readily  melted  into  tears. 
When  a  breath  of  indignation  swept  across  his  spirit, 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  63 

the  blood  flushed  his  withered  visage  even  to  the  roots 
of  his  white  hair ;  and  he  shook  his  clinched  fist  at  the 
trio  of  peaceful  auditors,  seeming  to  fancy  enemies 
in  those  who  felt  very  kindly  towards  the  desolate  old 
soul.  But  ever  and  anon,  sometimes  in  the  .midst 
of  his  most  earnest  talk,  this  ancient  person's  intellect 
would  wander  vaguely,  losing  its  hold  of  the  matter  in 
hand,  and  groping  for  it  amid  misty  shadows.  Then 
would  he  cackle  forth  a  feeble  laugh,  and  express  a 
ddubt  whether  his  wits  —  for  by  that  phrase  it  pleased 
our  ancient  friend  to  signify  his  mental  powers  —  were 
not  getting  a  little  the  worse  for  wear. 

Under  these  disadvantages,  the  old  loyalist's  story  re- 
quired more  revision  to  render  it  fit  for  the  public  eye, 
than  those  of  the  series  which  have  preceded  it;  nor 
should  it  be  concealed,  that  the  sentiment  and  tone  of  the 
affair  may  have  undergone  some  slight,  or  perchance  more 
than  slight  metamorphosis,  in  its  transmission  to  the 
reader  through  the  medium  of  a  thorough-going  demo- 
crat. The  tale  itself  is  a  mere  sketch,  with  no  involution 
of  plot,  nor  any  great  interest  of  events,  yet  possessing,  if 
I  have  rehearsed  it  aright,  that  pensive  influence  over  the 
mind,  which  the  shadow  of  the  old  Province  House  flings 
upon  the  loiterer  in  its  court-yard. 


The  hour  had  come  —  the  hour  of  defeat  and  humilia- 
tion—  when  Sir  William  Howe  was  to  pass  over  the 
threshold  of  the  Province  House,  and  embark,  with  no 
such  triumphal  ceremonies  as  he  once  promised  himself, 
on  board  the  British  fleet.  He  bade  his  servants  and 
military  attendants  go  before  him,  and  lingered  a  moment 
in  the  loneliness  of  the  mansion,  to  quell  the  fierce  emo- 


64  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

tions  that  struggled  in  his  bosom  as  with  a  death-throb. 
Preferable,  then,  would  he  have  deemed  his  fate,  had  a 
warrior's  death  left  him  a  claim  to  the  narrow  territory 
of  a  grave,  within  the  soil  which  the  King  had  given  him 
to  defend.  With  an  ominous  perception  that,  as  his  de- 
parting footsteps  echoed  adown  the  staircase,  the  sway  of 
Britain  was  passing  forever  from  New  England,  he  smote 
his  clinched  hand  on  his  brow,  and  cursed  the  destiny 
that  had  flung  the  shame  of  a  dismembered  empire  upon 
him. 

"  Would  to  God,"  cried  he,  hardly  repressing  his  tears 
of  rage,  "  that  the  rebels  were  even  now  at  the  doorstep  ! 
A  blood-stain  upon  the  floor  should  then  bear  testimony 
that  the  last  British  ruler  was  faithful  to  his  trust." 

The  tremulous  voice  of  a  woman  replied  to  his  ex- 
clamation. 

"Heaven's  cause  and  the  King's  are  one,"  it  said. 
"  Go  forth,  Sir  William  Howe,  and  trust  in  Heaven  to 
bring  back  a  Royal  Governor  in  triumph." 

Subduing  at  once  the  passion  to  which  he  had  yielded 
only  in  the  faith  that  it  was  unwitnessed,  Sir  William 
Howe  became  conscious  that  an  aged  woman,  leaning  on 
a  gold-headed  staff,  was  standing  betwixt  him  and  the 
door.  It  was  old  Esther  Dudley,  who  had  dwelt  almost 
immemorial  years  in  this  mansion,  until  her  presence 
seemed  as  inseparable  from  it  as  the  recollections  of  its 
history.  She  was  the  daughter  of  an  ancient  and  once 
eminent  family,  which  had  fallen  into  poverty  and  decay, 
and  left  its  last  descendant  no  resource  save  the  bounty 
of  the  King,  nor  any  shelter  except  within  the  walls  of 
the  Province  House.  An  office  in  the  household,  with 
merely  nominal  duties,  had  been  assigned  to  her  as  a 
pretext  for  the  payment  of  a  small  pension,  the  greater 
part  of  which  she  expended  in  adorning  herself  with  an 


OLD   ESTHER   DUDLEY.  65 

antique  magnificence  of  attire.  The  claims  of  Esther 
Dudley's  gentle  blood  were  acknowledged  by  all  the  suc- 
cessive governors  ;  and  they  treated  her  with  the  punc- 
tilious courtesy  which  it  was  her  foible  to  demand,  not 
always  with  success,  from  a  neglectful  world.  The  only 
actual  share  which  she  assumed  in  the  business  of  the 
mansion  was  to  glide  through  its  passages  and  public 
chambers,  late  at  night,  to  see  that  the  servants  had 
dropped -no  fire  from  their  flaring  torches,  nor  left  embers 
crackling  and  blazing  on  the  hearths.  Perhaps  it  was 
this  invariable  custom  of  walking  her  rounds  in  the  hush, 
of  midnight,  that  caused  the  superstition  of  the  times  to 
invest  the  old  woman  with  attributes  of  awe  and  mystery ; 
fabling  that  she  had  entered  the  portal  of  the  Province 
House,  none  knew  whence,  in  the  train  of  the  first  royal 
governor,  and  that  it  was  her  fate  to  dwell  there  till  the 
last  should  have  departed.  But  Sir  William  Howe,  if  he 
ever  heard  this  legend,  had  forgotten  it. 

"Mistress  Dudley,  why  are  you  loitering  here?" 
asked  he,  with  some  severity  of  tone.  "  It  is  my  pleas- 
ure to  be  the  last  in  this  mansion  of  the  King." 

"  Not  so,  if  it  please  your  Excellency,"  answered  the 
time -stricken  woman.  "This  roof  has  sheltered  me 
long.  I  will  not  pass  from  it  until  they  bear  me  to  the 
tomb  of  my  forefathers.  What  other  shelter  is  there 
for  old  Esther  Dudley,  save  the  Province  House  or  the 
grave  ?  " 

"  Now  Heaven  forgive  me  !  "  said  Sir  William  Howe 
to  himself.  "I  was  about  to  leave  this  wretched  old 
creature  to  starve  or  beg.  Take  this,  good  Mistress 
Dudley,"  he  added,  putting  a  purse  into  her  hands. 
"  King  George's  head  on  these  golden  guineas  is  sterling 
yet,  and  will  continue  so,  I  warrant  you,  even  should  the 
rebels  crown  John  Hancock  their  king.  That  purse  will 


66  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

buy  a  better  shelter  than  the  Province  House  can  now 
afford." 

"While  the  burden  of  life  remains  upon  me,  I  will 
have  no  other  shelter  than  this  roof,"  persisted  Esther 
Dudley,  striking  her  staff  upon  the  floor,  with  a  gesture 
that  expressed  immovable  resolve.  "And  when  your 
Excellency  returns  in  triumph,  I  will  totter  into  the 
porch  to  welcome  you." 

"  My  poor  old  friend  !  "  answered  the  British.  General ; 
and  all  his  manly  and  martial  pride  could  no  longer  re- 
strain a  gush  of  bitter  tears.  "  This  is  an  evil  hour  for 
you  and  me.  The  province  which  the  King  intrusted  to 
my  charge  is  lost.  I  go  hence  in  misfortune  —  perchance 
in  disgrace  —  to  return  no  more.  And  you,  whose  pres- 
ent being  is  incorporated  with  the  past,  —  who  have 
seen  governor  after  governor,  in  stately  pageantry,  ascend 
these  steps,  —  whose  whole  life  has  been  an  observance  of 
majestic  ceremonies,  and  a  worship  of  the  King,  —  how 
will  jou  endure  the  change  ?  Come  with  us  !  Bid  fare- 
well to  a  land  that  has  shaken  off  its  allegiance,  and  live 
still  under  a  royal  government,  at  Halifax." 

"  Never,  never !  "  said  the  pertinacious  old  dame. 
"  Here  will  I  abide ;  and  King  George  shall  still  have  one 
true  subject  in  his  disloyal  province." 

"  Beshrew  the  old  fool !  "  muttered  Sir  William  Howe, 
growing  impatient  of  her  obstinacy,  and  ashamed  of  the 
emotion  into  which  he  had  been  betrayed.  "  She  is  the 
very  moral  of  old-fashioned  prejudice,  and  could  exist 
nowhere  but  in  this  musty  edifice.  Well,  then,  Mistress 
Dudley,  since  you  will  needs  tarry,  I  give  the  Province 
House  in  charge  to  you.  Take  this  key,  and  keep  it  safe 
until  myself,  or  some  other  royal  governor,  shall  demand 
it  of  you." 

Smiling  bitterly  at  himself  and  her,  he  took  the  heavy 


OLD    ESTHER   DUDLEY.  67 

key  of  the  Province  House,  and  delivering  it  into  the  old 
lady's  hands,  drew  his  cloak  around  him  for  departure. 
As  the  General  glanced  back  at  Esther  Dudley's  antique 
figure,  he  deemed  her  well  fitted  for  such  a  charge,  as 
being  so  perfect  a  representative  of  the  decayed  past,  — 
of  an  age  gone  by,  with  its  manners,  opinions,  faith,  and 
feelings,  all  fallen  into  oblivion  or  scorn,  —  of  what  had 
once  been  a  reality,  but  was  now  merely  a  vision  of  faded 
magnificence.  Then  Sir  William  Howe  strode  forth, 
smiting  his  clinched  hands  together,  in  the  fierce  anguish 
of  his  spirit;  and  old  Esther  Dudley  was  left  to  keep 
watch  in  the  lonely  Province  House,  dwelling  there  with 
memory ;  and  if  Hope  ever  seemed  to  flit  around  her,  still 
it,  was  Memory  in  disguise. 

The  total  change  of  affairs  that  ensued  on  the  depart- 
ure of  the  British  troops  did  not  drive  the  venerable  lady 
from  her  stronghold.  There  was  not,  for  many  years 
afterwards,  a  governor  of  Massachusetts  ;  and  the  magis- 
trates, who  had  charge  of  such  matters,  saw  no  objection 
to  Esther  Dudley's  residence  in  the  Province  House,  es- 
pecially as  they  must  otherwise  have  paid  a  hireling  for 
taking  care  of  the  premises,  which  with  her  was  a  labor 
of  love.  And  so  they  left  her,  the  undisturbed  mistress 
of  the  old  historic  edifice.  Many  and  strange  were  the 
fables  which  the  gossips  whispered  about  her,  in  all  the 
chimney-corners  of  the  town.  Among  the  time-worn 
articles  of  furniture  that  had  been  left  in  the  mansion, 
there  was  a  tall,  antique  mirror,  which  was  well  worthy 
of  a  tale  by  itself,  and  perhaps  may  hereafter  be  the  theme 
of  one.  The  gold  of  its  heavily  wrought  frame  was  tar- 
nished, and  its  surface  so  blurred,  that  the  old  woman's 
figure,  whenever  she  paused  before  it,  looked  indistinct 
and  ghost-like.  But  it  was  the  general  belief  that  Esther 
could  cause  the  governors  of  the  overthrown  dynasty, 


68  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

with  the  beautiful  ladies  who  had  once  adorned  their 
festivals,  the  Indian  chiefs  who  had  come  up  to  the 
Province  House  to  hold  council  or  swear  allegiance,  the 
grim  provincial  warriors,  the  severe  clergymen,  —  in 
short,  all  the  pageantry  of  gone  days,  —  all  the  figures 
that  ever  swept  across  the  broad  plate  of  glass  in  former 
times,  —  she  could  cause  the  whole  to  reappear,  and  peo- 
ple the  inner  world  of  the  mirror  with  shadows  of  old  life. 
Such  legends  as  these,  together  with  the  singularity  of 
her  isolated  existence,  her  age,  and  the  infirmity  that  each 
added  winter  flung  upon  her,  made  Mistress  Dudley  the 
object  both  of  fear  and  pity ;  and  it  was  partly  the  result 
of  either  sentiment,  that,  amid  all  the  angry  license  of  the 
times,  neither  wrong  nor  insult  ever  fell  upon  her  unpro- 
tected head.  Indeed,  there  was  so  much  haughtiness  in 
her  demeanor  towards  intruders,  among  whom  she  reck- 
oned all  persons  acting  under  the  new  authorities,  that  it 
was  really  an  affair  of  no  small  nerve  to  look  her  in  the 
face.  And  to  do  the  people  justice,  stern  republicans  as 
they  had  now  become,  they  were  well  content  that  the  old 
gentlewoman,  in  her  hoop  pett  icoat  and  faded  embroidery, 
should  still  haunt  the  palace  of  ruined  pride  and  over- 
thrown power,  the  symbol  of  a  departed  system,  embody- 
ing a  history  in  her  person.  So  Esther  Dudley  dwelt, 
year  after  year,  in  the  Province  House,  still  reverencing 
all  that  others  had  flung  aside,  still  faithful  to  her  King, 
who,  so  long  as  the  venerable  dame  yet  held  her  post, 
might  be  said  to  retain  one  true  subject  in  New  England, 
and  one  spot  of  the  empire  that  had  been  wrested  from 
him. 

And  did  she  dwell  there  in  utter  loneliness  ?  Rumor 
said,  not  so.  Whenever  her  chill  and  withered  heart 
desired  warmth,  she  was  wont  to  summon  a  black  slave 
of  Governor  Shirley's  from  the  blurred  mirror,  and  send 


OLD    ESTHER   DUDLEY.  69 

him  ill  search  of  guests  who  had  long  ago  been  familiar 
in  those  deserted  chambers.  Forth  went  the  sable  mes- 
senger, with  the  starlight  or  the  moonshine  gleaming 
through  him,  and  did  his  errand  in  the  burial-ground, 
knocking  at  the  iron  doors  of  tombs,  or  upon  the  marble 
slabs  that  covered  them,  and  whispering  to  those  within, 
"  My  mistress,  old  Esther  Dudley,  bids  you  to  the  Prov- 
ince House  at  midnight."  And  punctually  as  the  clock 
of  the  Old  South  told  twelve,  came  the  shadows  of  the 
Olivers,  the  Hutchinsons,  the  Dudleys,  all  the  grandees 
of  a  bygone  generation,  gliding  beneath  the  portal  into 
the  well-known  mansion,  where  Esther  mingled  with  them 
as  if  she  likewise  were  a  shade.  Without  vouching  for 
the  truth  of  such  traditions,  it  is  certain  that  Mistress 
Dudley  sometimes  assembled  a  few  of  the  stanch,  though 
crestfallen  old  tories  who  had  lingered  in  the  rebel  town 
during  those  days  of  wrath  and  tribulation.  Out  of  a 
cobwebbed  bottle,  containing  liquor  that  a  royal  governor 
might  have  smarked  his  lips  over,  they  quaffed  healths  to 
the  King,  and  babbled  treason  to  the  Republic,  feeling 
as  if  the  protecting  shadow  of  the  throne  were  still  flung 
around  them.  But,  draining  the  last  drops  of  their  liquor, 
they  stole  timorously  homeward,  and  answered  not  again, 
if  the  rude  mob  reviled  them  iii  the  street. 

Yet  Esther  Dudley's  most  frequent  and  favored  guests 
were  the  children  of  the  town.  Towards  them  she  was 
never  stern.  A  kindly  and  loving  nature,  hindered  else- 
where from  its  free  course  by  a  thousand  rocky  preju- 
dices, lavished  itself  upon  these  little  ones.  By  bribes  of 
gingerbread  of  her  own  making,  stamped  with  a  royal 
crown,  she  tempted  their  sunny  sportiveness  beneath  the 
gloomy  portal  of  the  Province  House,  and  would  often 
beguile  them  to  spend  a  whole  play-day  there,  sitting  in 
a  circle  round  the  verge  of  her  hoop  petticoat,  greedily 


70  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

attentive  to  her  stories  of  a  dead  world.  And  when  these 
little  boys  and  girls  stole  forth  again  from  the  dark,  mys- 
terious mansion,  they  went  bewildered,  full  of  old  feelings 
that  graver  people  had  long  ago  forgotten,  rubbing  their 
eyes  at  the  world  around  them  as  if  they  had  gone  astray 
into  ancient  times,  and  become  children  of  the  past.  At 
home,  when  their  parents  asked  where  they  had  loitered 
such  a  weary  while,  and  with  whom  they  had  been  at 
play,  the  children  would  talk  of  all  the  departed  worthies 
of  the  province,  as  far  back  as  Governor  Belcher,  and 
the  haughty  dame  of  Sir  William  Phipps.  It  would 
seem  as  though  they  had  been  sitting  on  the  knees  of 
these  famous  personages,  whom  the  grave  had  hidden 
for  half  a  century,  and  had  toyed  with  the  embroidery  of 
their  rich  waistcoats,  or  roguishly  pulled  the  long  curls 
of  their  flowing  wigs.  "  But  Governor  Belcher  has  been 
dead  this  many  a  year,"  would  the  mother  say  to  her 
little  boy.  "  And  did  you  really  see  him  at  the  Province 
House  ?  "  "  O,  yes,  dear  mother !  yes  !  "  the  half- 
dreaming  child  would  answer.  "  But  when  old  Esther 
had  done  speaking  about  him  he  faded  away  out  of  his 
chair."  Thus,  without  affrighting  her  little  guests,  she 
led  them  by  the  hand  into  the  chambers  of  her  own  deso- 
late heart,  and  made  childhood's  fancy  discern  the  ghosts 
that  haunted  there. 

Living  so  continually  in  her  own  circle  of  ideas,  and 
never  regulating  her  mind  by  a  proper  reference  to 
present  things,  Esther  Dudley  appears  to  have  grown 
partially  crazed.  It  was  found  that  she  had  no  right 
sense  of  the  progress  and  true  state  of  the  Revolutionary 
War,  but  held  a  constant  faith  that  the  armies  of  Britain 
were  victorious  on  every  field,  and  destined  to  be  ulti- 
mately triumphant.  Whenever  the  town  rejoiced  for  a 
battle  won  by  Washington,  or  Gates,  or  Morgan,  or 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  71 

Greene,  the  news,  in  passing  through  the  door  of  the 
Province  House,  as  through  the  ivory  gate  of  dreams, 
became  metamorphosed  into  a  strange  tale  of  the  prowess 
of  Howe,  Clinton,  or  Cornwallis.  Sooner  or  later,  it 
was  her  invincible  belief,  the  colonies  would  be  prostrate 
at  the  footstool  of  the  King.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to 
take  for  granted  that  such  was  already  the  case.  On 
one  occasion,  she  startled  the  towns-people  by  a  brill- 
iant illumination  of  the  Province  House,  with  candles  at 
every  pane  of  glass,  and  a  transparency  of  the  King's 
initials  and  a  crown  of  light,  in  the  great  balcony  win- 
dow. The  figure  of  the  aged  woman,  in  the  most  gor- 
geous of  her  mildewed  velvets  and  brocades,  was  seen 
passing  from  casement  to  casement,  until  she  paused  be- 
fore the  balcony,  and  flourished  a  huge  key  above  her 
head.  Her  wrinkled  visage  actually  gleamed  with  tri- 
umph, as  if  the  soul  within  her  were  a  festal  lamp. 

"What  means  this  blaze  of  light?  What  does  old 
Esther's  joy  portend  ?  "  whispered  a  spectator.  "  It  is 
frightful  to  see  her  gliding  about  the  chambers,  and  re- 
joicing there  without  a  soul  to  bear  her  company." 

"  It  is  as  if  she  were  making  merry  in  a  tomb,"  said 
another. 

"Pshaw!  It  is  no  such  mystery,"  observed  an  old 
man,  after  some  brief  exercise  of  memory.  "  Mistress 
Dudley  is  keeping  jubilee  for  the  King  of  England's 
birthday." 

Then  the  people  laughed  aloud,  and  would  have 
thrown  mud  against  the  blazing  transparency  of  the 
King's  crown  and  initials,  only  that  they  pitied  the 
poor  old  dame,  who  was  so  dismally  triumphant  amid 
the  wreck  and  ruin  of  the  system  to  which  she  apper- 
tained. 

Oftentimes  it  was  her  custom  to  climb  the  weary  stair- 


72  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

case  that  wound  upward  to  the  cupola,  and  thence  strain 
her  dimmed  eyesight  seaward  and  countryward,  watching 
for  a  British  fleet,  or  for  the  march  of  a  grand  proces- 
sion, with  the  King's  banner  floating  over  it.  The  pas- 
sengers in  the  street  below  would  discern  her  anxious 
visage,  and  send  up  a  shout,  "  When  the  golden  In- 
dian on  the  Province  House  shall  shoot  his  arrow,  and 
when  the  cock  on  the  Old  South  spire  shall  crow,  then 
look  for  a  royal  governor  again  !  "  —  for  this  had  grown 
a  byword  through  the  town.  And  at  last,  after  lon^, 
long  years,  old  Esther  Dudley  knew,  or  perchance  she 
only  dreamed,  that  a  royal  governor  was  on  the  eve  of 
returning  to  the  Province  House,  to  receive  the  heavy 
key  which  Sir  William  Howe  had  committed  to  her 
charge.  Now  it  was  the  fact,  that  intelligence  bearing 
some  faint  analogy  to  Esther's  version  of  it,  was  current 
among  the  towns-people.  She  set  the  mansion  in  the 
best  order  that  her  means  allowed,  and  arraying  herself 
in  silks  and  tarnished  gold,  stood  long  before  the  blurred 
mirror  to  admire  her  own  magnificence.  As  she  gazed, 
the  gray  and  withered  lady  moved  her  ashen  lips,  mur- 
muring half  aloud,  talking  to  shapes  that  she  saw  within 
the  mirror,  to  shadows  of  her  own  fantasies,  to  the  house- 
hold friends  of  memory,  and  bidding  them  rejoice  with 
her,  and  come  forth  to  meet  the  governor.  And  while 
absorbed  in  this  communion,  Mistress  Dudley  heard  the 
tramp  of  many  footsteps  in  the  street,  and  looking  out 
at  the  window,  beheld  what  she  construed  as  the  royal 
governor's  arrival. 

"  O  happy  day  !  O  blessed,  blessed  hour  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Let  me  but  bid  him  welcome  within  the  por- 
tal, and  my  task  in  the  Province  House,  and  on  earth, 
is  done ! " 

Then  with  tottering  feet,  which  age  and  tremulous  joy 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  73 

caused  to  tread  amiss,  she  hurried  down  the  grand  stair- 
case, her  silks  sweeping  and  rustling  a/  she  went,  so  that 
the  sound  was  as  if  a  train  of  spectral  courtiers  were 
thronging  from  the  dim  mirror.  And  Esther  Dudley 
fancied,  that  as  soon  as  the  wide  door  should  be  flung 
open,  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  bygone  times  would 
pace  majestically  into  the  Province  House,  and  the  gilded 
tapestry  of  the  past  would  be  brightened  by  the  sunshine 
of  the  present.  She  turned  the  key,  — withdrew  it  from 
the  lock,  —  unclosed  the  door,  —  and  stepped  across  the 
threshold.  Advancing  up  the  court-yard  appeared  a 
person  of  most  dignified  mien,  with  tokens,  as  Esther 
interpreted  them,  of  gentle  blood,  high  rank,  and  long- 
accustomed  authority,  even  in  his  walk  and  every  ges- 
ture. He  was  richly  dressed,  but  wore  a  gouty  shoe, 
which,  however,  did  not  lessen  the  stateliness  of  his  gait. 
Around  and  behind  him  were  people  in  plain  civic 
dresses,  and  two  or  three  war-worn  veterans,  evidently 
officers  of  rank,  arrayed  in  a  uniform  of  blue  and  buff. 
But  Esther  Dudley,  firm  in  the  belief  that  had  fastened 
its  roots  about  her  heart,  beheld  only  the  principal  per- 
sonage, and  never  doubted  that  this  was  the  long-looked- 
for  governor,  to  whom  she  was  to  surrender  up  her 
charge.  As  he  approached,  she  involuntarily  sank  down 
on  her  knees,  and  tremblingly  held  forth  the  heavy  key. 

"  Receive  my  trust !  take  it  quickly  !  "  cried  she  j 
"  for  metlunks  Death  is  striving  to  snatch  away  my  tri- 
umph. But  he  comes  too  late.  Thank  Heaven  for  this 
blessed  hour !  God  save  King  George  !  " 

"  That,  madam,  is  a  strange  prayer  to  be  offered  up 
at  such  a  moment,"  replied  the  unknown  guest  of  the 
Province  House,  and  courteously  removing  his  hat,  he 
offered  his  arm  to  raise  the  aged  woman.  "  Yet,  in  rev- 
erence for  your  gray  hairs  and  long-kept  faith,  Heaven 


74  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

forbid  that  any  here  should  say  you  nay.  Over  the 
realms  which  stilf"  acknowledge  his  sceptre,  God  save 
King  George ! " 

Esther  Dudley  started  to  her  feet,  and  hastily  clutch- 
ing back  the  key,  gazed  with  fearful  earnestness  at  the 
.stranger ;  and  dimly  and  doubtfully,  as  if  suddenly 
awakened  from  a  dream,  her  bewildered  eyes  half  rec- 
ognized his  face.  Years  ago,  she  had  known  him  among 
the  gentry  of  the  province.  But  the  ban  of  the  King 
had  fallen  upon  him !  How,  then,  came  the  doomed 
victim  here  ?  Proscribed,  excluded  from  mercy,  the 
monarch's  most  dreaded  and  hated  foe,  this  New  Eng- 
land merchant  had  stood  triumphantly  against  a  king- 
dom's strength ;  and  his  foot  now  trod  upon  humbled 
royalty,  as  he  ascended  the  steps  of  the  Province  House, 
the  people's  chosen  governor  of  Massachusetts. 

"  Wretch,  wretch  that  I  am  !  "  muttered  the  old  wo- 
man, with  such  a  heart-broken  expression,  that  the  tears 
gushed  from  the  stranger's  eyes.  "Have  I  bidden  a 
traitor  welcome  ?  Come,  Death  !  come  quickly  !  " 

"  Alas,  venerable  lady !  "  said  Governor  Hancock, 
lending  her  his  support  with  all  the  reverence  that  a 
courtier  would  have  shown  to  a  queen.  "  Your  life  has 
been  prolonged  until  the  world  has  changed  around  you. 
You  have  treasured  up  all  that  time  has  rendered  worth- 
less, —  the  principles,  feelings,  manners,  modes  of  being 
and  acting,  which  another  generation  has  flung  aside,  — 
and  you  are  a  symbol  of  the  past.  And  I,  and  these 
around  me,  —  we  represent  a  new  race  of  men,  —  living 
no  longer  in  the  past,  scarcely  in  the  present,  —  but  pro- 
jecting our  lives  forward  into  the  future.  Ceasing  to 
model  ourselves  on  ancestral  superstitions,  it  is  our  faith 
and  principle  to  press  onward,  onward !  Yet,"  continued 
he,  turning  to  his  attendants,  "  let  us  reverence,  for  the 


OLD    ESTHER    DUDLEY.  75 

last  time,  the  stately  and  gorgeous  prejudices  of  the 
tottering  Past ! " 

While  the  republican  governor  spoke,  he  had  con- 
tinued to  support  the  helpless  form  of  Esther  Dudley ; 
her  weight  grew  heavier  against  his  arm ;  but  at  last, 
with  a  sudden  effort  to  free  herself,  the  ancient  woman 
sank  down  beside  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  portal.  The 
key  of  the  Province  House  fell  from  her  grasp,  and 
clanked  against  the  stone. 

"  I  have  been  faithful  unto  death,"  murmured  she. 
"  God  save  the  King !  " 

"  She  hath  done  her  office  !  "  said  Hancock,  solemnly. 
"  We  will  follow  her  reverently  to  the  tomb  of  her  an- 
cestors ;  and  then,  my  fellow-citizens,  onward,  —  onward ! 
We  are  no  longer  children  of  the  Past ! " 


As  the  old  loyalist  concluded  his  narrative,  the  enthu- 
siasm which  had  been  fitfully  flashing  within  his  sunken 
eyes,  and  quivering  across  his  wrinkled  visage,  faded 
away,  as  if  all  the  lingering  fire  of  his  soul  were  extin- 
guished. Just  then,  too,  a  lamp  upon  the  mantel-piece 
threw  out  a  dying  gleam,  whicli  vanished  as  speedily  as 
it  shot  upward,  compelling  our  eyes  to  grope  for  one 
another's  features  by  the  dim  glow  of  the  hearth.  With 
such  a  lingering  fire,  methought,  with  such  a  dying  gleam, 
had  the  glory  of  the  ancient  system  vanished  from  the 
Province  House,  when  the  spirit  of  old  Esther  Dudley 
took  its  flight.  And  now,  again,  the  clock  of  the  Old 
South  threw  its  voice  of  ages  on  the  breeze,  knolling  the 
hourly  knell  of  the  Past,  crying  out  far  and  wide  through 
the  multitudinous  city,  and  filling  our  ears,  as  we  sat  in 
the  dusky  chamber,  with  its  reverberating  depth  of  tone. 


76  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

In  that  same  mansion,  —  in  that  very  chamber,  —  what 
a  volume  of  history  had  been  told  off  into  hours,  by  the 
same  voice  that  was  now  trembling  in  the  air.  Many  a 
governor  had  heard  those  midnight  accents,  and  longed 
to  exchange  his  stately  cares  for  slumber.  And  as  for 
mine  host,  and  Mr.  Bela  Tiffany,  and  the  old  loyalist, 
and  me,  we  had  babbled  about  dreams  of  the  past,  until 
we  almost  fancied  that  the  clock  was  still  striking  in  a 
bygone  century.  Neither  of  us  would  have  wondered, 
had  a  hoop-petticoated  phantom  of  Esther  Dudley  tottered 
into  the  chamber,  walking  her  rounds  in  the  hush  of 
midnight,  as  of  yore,  and  motioned  us  to  quench  the 
fading  embers  of  the  fire,  and  leave  the  historic  precincts 
to  herself  and  her  kindred  shades.  But  as  no  such  vision 
was  vouchsafed,  I  retired  unbidden,  and  would  advise 
Mr.  Tiffany  to  lay  hold  of  another  auditor,  being  resolved 
not  to  show  my  face  in  the  Province  House  for  a  good 
while  hence,  —  if  ever. 


THE  HAUNTED  MIND. 

[AT  a  singular  moment  is  the  first  one,  when 
you  have  hardly  begun  to  recollect  yourself, 
after  starting  from  midnight  slumber !  By  un- 
closing your  eyes  so  suddenly,  you  seem  to  have  surprised 
the  personages  of  your  dream  in  full  convocation  round 
your  bed,  and  catch  one  broad  glance  at  them  before  they 
can  flit  into  obscurity.  Or,  to  vary  the  metaphor,  you 
find  yourself,  for  a  single  instant,  wide  awake  in  that 
realm  of  illusions,  whither  sleep  has  been  the  passport, 
and  behold  its  ghostly  inhabitants  and  wondrous  scenery, 
with  a  perception  of  their  strangeness,  such  as  you  never 
attain  while  the  dream  is  undisturbed.  The  distant  sound 
of  a  church-clock  is  borne  faintly  on  the  wind.  You 
question  with  yourself,  half  seriously,  whether  it  has 
stolen  to  your  waking  ear  from  some  gray  tower,  that 
stood  within  the  precincts  of  your  dream.  While  yet  in 
suspense,  another  clock  flings  its  heavy  clang  over  the 
slumbering  town,  with  so  full  and  distinct  a  sound,  and 
such  a  long  murmur  in  the  neighboring  air,  that  you  are 
certain  it  must  proceed  from  the  steeple  at  the  nearest 
corner.  You  count  the  strokes  —  one  —  two,  and  there 
they  cease,  with  a  booming  sound,  like  the  gathering  of 
a  third  stroke  within  the  bell. 


78  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

If  you  could  choose  an  hour  of  wakefulness  out  of  ttie 
whole  night,  it  would  be  this.  Since  your  sober  bedtime, 
at  eleven,  you  have  had  rest  enough  to  take  off  the  press- 
ure of  yesterday's  fatigue ;  while  before  you,  till  the  sun 
comes  from  "  far  Cathay  "  to  brighten  your  window,  there 
is  almost  the  space  of  a  summer  night ;  one  hour  to  be 
spent  in  thought,  with  the  mind's  eye  half  shut,  and  two 
in  pleasant  dreams,  and  two  in  that  strangest  of  enjoy- 
ments, the  forgetfulness  alike  of  joy  and  woe.  The 
moment  of  rising  belongs  to  another  period  of  time,  and 
appears  so  distant,  that  the  plunge  out  of  a  warm  bed 
into  the  frosty  air  cannot  yet  be  anticipated  with  dismay. 
Yesterday  has  already  vanished  among  the  shadows  of  the 
past ;  to-morrow  has  not  yet  emerged  from  the  future. 
You  have  found  an  intermediate  space,,  where  the  busi- 
ness of  life  does  not  intrude ;  where  the  passing  moment 
lingers,  and  becomes  truly  the  present;,  a  spot  where 
Tather  Time,  when  he  thinks  nobody  is  watching  him, 
sits  down  by  the  wayside  to  take  breath.  O  that  he 
would  fall  asleep,  and  let  mortals  live  on  without  growing 
older ! 

Hitherto  you  have  lain  perfectly  still,  because  the 
slightest  motion  would  dissipate  the  fragments  of  your 
slumber.  Now,  being  irrevocably  awake,  you  peep 
through  the  half-drawn  window-curtain,  and  observe 
that  the  glass  is  ornamented  with  fanciful  devices  in 
frostwork,  and  that  each  pane  presents  something  like  a 
frozen  dream.  There  will'be  time  enough  to  trace  out  the 
analogy,  while  waiting  the  summons  to  breakfast.  Seen 
through  the  clear  portion  of  the  glass,  where  the  silvery 
mountain-peaks  of  the  frost  scenery  do  not  ascend,  the 
most  conspicuous  object  is  the  steeple,  the  white  spire  of 
which  directs  you  to  the  wintry  lustre  of  the  firmament. 
You  may  almost  distinguish  the  figures  on  the  clock  that 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND.  79 

has  just  told  the  hour.  Such  a  frosty  sky,  and  the 
snow-covered  roofs,  and  the  long  vista  of  the  frozen 
street,  all  white,  and  the  distant  water  hardened  into 
rock,  might  make  you  shiver,  even  under  four  blankets 
and  a  woollen  comforter.  Yet  look  at  that  one  glorious 
star !  Its  beams  are  distinguishable  from  all  the  rest, 
and  actually  cast  the  shadow  of  the  casement  on  the  bed, 
with  a  radiance  of  deeper  hue  than  moonlight,  though 
not  so  accurate  an  outline. 

You  sink  down  and  muffle  your  head  in  the  clothes, 
shivering  all  the  while,  but  less  from  bodily  chill  than 
the  bare  idea  of  a  polar  atmosphere.  It  is  too  cold  even 
for  the  thoughts  to  venture  abroad.  You  speculate  on 
the  luxury  of  wearing  out  a  whole  existence  in  bed,  like 
an  oyster  in  its  shell,  content  with  the  sluggish  ecstasy 
of  inaction,  and  drowsily  conscious  of  nothing  but  deli- 
cious warmth,  such  as  you  now  feel  again.  Ah !  that 
idea  has  brought  a  hideous  one  in  its  train.  You  think 
how  the  dead  are  lying  in  their  cold  shrouds  and  narrow 
coffins,  through  the  drear  winter  of  the  grave,  and  can- 
not persuade  your  fancy  that  they  neither  shrink  nor 
shiver,  when  the  snow  is  drifting  over  their  little  hillocks, 
and  the  bitter  blast  howls  against  the  door  of  the  tomb. 
That  gloomy  thought  will  collect  a  gloomy  multitude, 
and  throw  its  complexion  over  your  wakeful  hour. 

In  the  depths  of  every  heart  there  is  a  tomb  and  a 
dungeon,  though  the  lights,  the  music,  and  revelry  above 
may  cause  us  to  forget  their  existence,  and  the  buried 
ones,  or  prisoners  whom  they  hide.  But  sometimes, 
and  oftenest  at  midnight,  these  dark  receptacles  are  flung 
wide  open.  In  an  hour  like  this,  when  the  mind  has  a 
passive  sensibility,  but  no  active  strengtli ;  when  the 
imagination  is  a  mirror,  imparting  vividness  to  all  ideas, 
without  the  power  of  selecting  or  controlling  them  j  then- 


80  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pray  that  your  griefs  may  slumber,  and  the  brotherhood 
of  remorse  not  break  their  chain.  It  is  too  late  !  A  fu- 
neral train  comes  gliding  by  your  bed,  in  which  Passion 
and  Feeling  assume  bodily  shape,  and  things  of  the  mind 
become  dim  spectres  to  the  eye.  There  is  your  earliest 
Sorrow,  a  pale  young  mourner,  wearing  a  sister's  like- 
ness to  first  love,  sadly  beautiful,  with  a  hallowed  sweet- 
ness in  her  melancholy  features,  and  grace  in  the  flow  of 
her  sable  robe.  Next  appears  a  shade  of  ruined  loveli- 
ness, with  dust  among  her  golden  hair,  and  her  bright 
garments  all  faded  and  defaced,  stealing  from  yoar 
glance  with  drooping  head,  as  fearful  of  reproach ;  she 
was  your  fondest  Hope,  but  a  delusive  one ;  so  call  her 
Disappointment  now.  A  sterner  form  succeeds,  with  a 
brow  of  wrinkles,  a  look  and  gesture  of  iron  authority ; 
there  is  no  name  for  him  unless  it  be  Fatality,  an  em- 
blem of  the  evil  influence  that  rules  your  fortunes;  a 
demon  to  whom  you  subjected  yourself  by  some  error  at 
the  outset  of  life,  and  were  bound  his  slave  forever,  by 
once  obeying  him.  See  !  those  fiendish  lineaments  gra- 
ven on  the  darkness,  the  writhed  lip  of  scorn,  the  mock- 
ery of  that  living  eye,  the  pointed  finger,  touching  the 
sore  place  in  your  heart !  Do  you  remember  any  act  of 
enormous  folly,  at  which  you  would  blush,  even  in  the 
remotest  cavern  of  the  earth?  Then  recognize  your 
Shame. 

Pass,  wretched  band !  Well  for  the  wakeful  one, 
if,  riotously  miserable,  a  fiercer  tribe  do  not  surround 
him,  the  devils  of  a  guilty  heart,  that  holds  its  hell 
within  itself.  What  if  Remorse  should  assume  the 
features  of  an  injured  friend  ?  What  if  the  fiend  should 
come  in  woman's  garments,  with  a  pale  beauty  amid  sin 
and  desolation,  and  lie  down  by  your  side  ?  What  if  he 
should  stand  at  your  bed's  foot,  in  the  likeness  of  a 


THE    HAUNTED    MIND.  81 

corpse,  with  a  bloody  stain  upon  the  shroud  ?  Sufficient 
•without  such  guilt  is  this  nightmare  of  the  soul ;  this 
heavy,  heavy  sinking  of  the  spirits ;  this  wintry  gloom 
about  the  heart;  this  indistinct  horror  of  the  mind, 
blending  itself  with  the  darkness  of  the  chamber. 

By  a  desperate  effort,  you  start  upright,  breaking  from 
a  sort  of  conscious  sleep,  and  gazing  wildly  round  the 
bed,  as  if  the  fiends  were  anywhere  but  in  your  haunted 
mind.  At  the  same  moment,  the  slumbering  embers  on 
the  hearth  send  forth  a  gleam  which  palely  illuminates 
the  whole  outer  room,  and  nickers  through  the  door  of 
the  bedchamber,  but  cannot  quite  dispel  its  obscurity. 
Your  eye  searches  for  whatever  may  remind  you  of  the 
living  world.  With  eager  minuteness,  you  take  note  of 
the  table  near  the  fireplace,  the  book  with  an  ivory  knife 
between  its  leaves,  the  unfolded  letter,  the  hat,  and  the 
fallen  glove.  Soon  the  flame  vanishes,  and  with  it  the 
whole  scene  is  gone,  though  its  image  remains  an  instant 
in  your  mind's  eye,  when  darkness  has  swallowed  the 
reality.  Throughout  the  chamber,  there  is  the  same  ob- 
scurity as  before,  but  not  the  same  gloom  within  your 
breast.  As  your  head  falls  back  upon  the  pillow,  you 
think  —  in  a  whisper  be  it  spoken  —  how  pleasant  in 
these  night  solitudes  would  be  the  rise  and  fall  of  a 
softer  breathing  than  your  own,  the  slight  pressure  of  a 
tenderer  bosom,  the  quiet  throb  of  a  purer  heart,  impart- 
ing its  peacefulness  to  your  troubled  one,  as  if  the  fond 
sleeper  were  involving  you  in  her  dream. 

Her  influence  is  over  you,  though  she  have  no  exist- 
ence but  in  that  momentary  image.  You  sink  down  in 
a  flowery  spot,  on  the  borders  of  sleep  and  wakefulness, 
while  your  thoughts  rise  before  you  hi  pictures,  all  dis- 
connected, yet  all  assimilated  by  a  pervading  gladsome- 
ness  and  beauty.  The  wheeling  of  gorgeous  squadrons, 
4*  r 


82  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

that  glitter  in  the  sun,  is  succeeded  by  the  merriment 
of  children  round  the  door  of  a  school-house,  beneath 
the  glimmering  shadow  of  old  trees,  at  the  corner  of  a 
rustic  lane.  You  stand  in  the  sunny  rain  of  a  summer 
shower,  and  wander  among  the  sunny  trees  of  an  autum- 
nal wood,  and  look  upward  at  the  brightest  of  all  rain- 
bows, overarching  the  unbroken  sheet  of  snow,  on  the 
American  side  of  Niagara.  Your  mind  struggles  pleas- 
antly between  the  dancing  radiance  round  the  hearth  of 
a  young  man  and  his  recent  bride,  and  the  twittering 
flight  of  birds  in  spring,  about  their  new-made  nest. 
You  feel  the  merry  bounding  of  a  ship  before  the 
breeze-,  and  watch  the  tuneful  feet  of  rosy  girls,  as 
they  twine  their  last  and  merriest  dance  in  a  splendid 
T)allroom ;  and  find  yourself  in  the  brilliant  circle  of  a 
crowded  theatre,  as  the  curtain  falls  over  a  light  and 
•airy  scene. 

With  an  involuntary  start,  you  seize  hold  on  con- 
sciousness, and  prove  yourself  but  half  awake,  by  run- 
ning a  doubtful  parallel  between  human  life  and  the 
hour  which  has  now  elapsed.  In  both  you  emerge 
from  mystery,  pass  through  a  vicissitude  that  you  can 
but  imperfectly  control,  and  are  borne  onward  to  an- 
•other  mystery.  Now  comes  the  peal  of  the  distant 
clock,  with  fainter  and  fainter  strokes  as  you  plunge 
further  into  the  wilderness  of  sleep.  It  is  the  knell  of 
a  temporary  death.  Your  spirit  has  departed,  and  strays 
like  a  free  citizen,  among  the  people  of  a  shadowy  world, 
beholding  strange  sights,  yet  without  wonder  or  dismay. 
So  calm,  perhaps,  will  be  the  final  change;  so  undis- 
turbed, as  if  among  familiar  things,  the  entrance  of  the 
soul  to  its  Eternal  home ! 


THE  VILLAGE  UNCLE. 

AN  IMAGINARY  RETROSPECT. 

OME !  another  log  upon  the  hearth.  True,  our 
little  parlor  is  comfortable,  especially  here,  where 
the  old  man  sits  in  his  old  arm-chair;  but  on 
Thanksgiving  night  the  blaze  should  dance  higher  up 
the  chimney,  and  send  a  shower  of  sparks  into  the 
outer  darkness.  Toss  on  an  armful  of  those  dry  oak 
chips,  the  last  relics  of  the  Mermaid's  knee-timbers,  the 
bones  of  your  namesake,  Susan.  Higher  yet,  and  clearer 
be  the  blaze,  till  our  cottage  windows  glow  the  ruddiest 
in  the  village,  and  the  light  of  our  household  mirth 
flash  far  across  the  bay  to  Nahant.  And  now,  come, 
Susan,  come,  my  children,  draw  your  chairs  round  me, 
all  of  you.  There  is  a  dimness  over  your  figures !  You 
sit  quivering  indistinctly  with  each  motion  of  the  blaze, 
which  eddies  about  you  like  a  flood,  so  that  you  all  have 
the  look  of  visions,  or  people  that  dwell  only  in  the  fire- 
light, and  will  vanish  from  existence,  as  completely  as 
your  own  shadows,  when  the  flame  shall  sink  among 
the  embers.  Hark !  let  me  listen  for  the  swell  of  the 
surf;  it  should  be  audible  a  mile  inland,  on  a  night  like 
this.  Yes ;  there  I  catch  the  sound,  but  only  an  uncer- 
tain murmur,  as  if  a  good  way  down  over  the  beach; 


84  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

though,  by  the  almanac,  it  is  high  tide  at  eight  o'clock, 
and  the  billows  must  now  be  dashing  within  thirty  yards 
of  our  door.  Ah!  the  old  man's  ears  are  failing  him; 
and  so  is  his  eyesight,  and  perhaps  his  mind ;  else  you 
would  not  all  be  so  shadowy,  in  the  blaze  of  his  Thanks- 
giving  fire. 

How  strangely  the  Past  is  peeping  over  the  shoulders 
of  the  Present !  To  judge  by  my  recollections,  it  is  but 
a  few  moments  since  I  sat  in  another  room ;  yonder 
model  of  a  vessel  was  not  there,  nor  the  old  chest  of 
drawers,  nor  Susan's  profile  and  mine,  in  that  gilt  frame ; 
nothing,  in  short,  except  this  same  fire,  which  glimmered 
on  books,  papers,  and  a  picture,  and  half  discovered  my 
solitary  figure  in  a  looking-glass.  But  it  was  paler  than 
my  rugged  old  self,  and  younger,  too,  by  almost  half  a 
century.  Speak  to  me,  Susan ;  speak,  my  beloved  ones ; 
for  the  scene  is  glimmering  on  my  sight  again,  and  as 
it  brightens  you  fade  away.  O,  I  should  be  loath  to 
lose  my  treasure  of  past  happiness,  and  become  once 
more  what  I  was  then ;  a  hermit  in  the  depths  of  my 
own  mind;  sometimes  yawning  over  drowsy  volumes, 
and  anon  a  scribbler  of  wearier  trash  than  what  I  read ; 
a  man  who  had  wandered  out  of  the  real  world  and  got 
into  its  shadow,  where  his  troubles,  joys,  and  vicissitudes 
were  of  such  slight  stuff,  that  he  hardly  knew  whether 
he  lived,  or  only  dreamed  of  living.  Thank  Heaven, 
I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have  done  with  all  such 
vanities ! 

Still  this  dimness  of  mine  eyes  !  Come  nearer,  Susan, 
and  stand  before  the  fullest  blaze  of  the  hearth.  Now 
I  behold  you  illuminated  from  head  to  foot,  in  your 
clean  cap  and  decent  gown,  with  the  dear  lock  of  gray 
hair  across  your  forehead,  and  a  quiet  smile  about  your 
mouth,  while  the  eyes  alone  are  concealed,  by  the  red 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  85 

gleam  of  the  fire  upon  your  spectacles.  There,  you 
made  me  tremble  again!  When  the  flame  quivered, 
my  sweet  Susan,  you  quivered  with  it,  and  grew  indis- 
tinct, as  if  melting  into  the  warm  light,  that  my  last 
glimpse  of  you  might  be  as  visionary  as  the  first  was, 
full  many  a  year  since.  Do  you  remember  it?  You 
stood  on  the  little  bridge,  over  the  brook,  that  runs 
across  King's  Beach  into  the  sea.  It  was  twilight ;  the 
waves  rolling  in,  the  wind  sweeping  by,  the  crimson 
clouds  fading  in  the  west,  and  the  silver  moon  bright- 
ening above  the  hill ;  and  on  the  bridge  were  you,  flut- 
tering in  the  breeze  like  a  sea-bird  that  might  skim  away 
at  your  pleasure.  You  seemed  a  daughter  of  the  view- 
less wind,  a  creature  of  the  ocean  foam  and  the  crimson 
light,  whose  merry  life  was  spent  in  dancing  on  the  crests 
of  the  billows,  that  threw  up  their  spray  to  support  your 
footsteps.  As  I  drew  nearer,  I  fancied  you  akin  to  the 
race  of  mermaids,  and  thought  how  pleasant  it  would  be 
to  dwell  with  you  among  the  quiet  coves,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  cliffs,  and  to  roam  along  secluded  beaches  of  the 
purest  sand,  and  when  our  northern  shores  grew  bleak, 
to  haunt  the  islands,  green  and  lonely,  far  amid  summer 
seas.  Arid  yet  it  gladdened  me,  after  all  this  nonsense, 
to  find  you  nothing  but  a  pretty  young  girl,  sadly  per- 
plexed with  the  rude  behavior  of  the  wind  about  your 
petticoats. 

Thus  I  did  with  Susan  as  with  most  other  things  in 
my  earlier  days,  dipping  her  image  into  my  mind  and 
coloring  it  of  a  thousand  fantastic  hues,  before  I  could 
see  her  as  she  really  was.  Now,  Susan,  for  a  sober 
picture  of  our  village !  It  was  a  small  collection  of 
dwellings  that  seemed  to  have  been  Cast  up  by  the 
sea,  with  the  rock-weed  and  marine  plants  that,  it  vom- 
its after  a  storm,  or  to  have  come  ashore  among  the 


86  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pipe-staves  and  other  l-umber,  which  had  been  washed 
from  the  deck  of  an  Eastern  schooner.  There  was  just 
space  for  the  narrow  and  sandy  street  between  the 
beach  in  front,  and  a  precipitous  hill  that  lifted  its 
rocky  forehead  in  the  rear,  among  a  waste  of  juniper- 
bushes  and  the  wild  growth  of  a  broken  pasture.  The 
village  was  picturesque,  in  the  variety  of  its  edifices, 
though  all  were  rude.  Here  stood  a  little  old  hovel, 
built,  perhaps,  of  drift-wood,  there  a  row  of  boat-houses, 
and  beyond  them  a  two-story  dwelling,  of  dark  and 
weather-beaten  aspect,  the  whole  intermixed  with  one 
or  two  snug  cottages,  painted  white,  a  sufficiency  of 
pigsties,  and  a  shoemaker's  shop.  Two  grocery-stores 
stand  opposite  each  other,  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
These  were  the  places  of  resort,  at  their  idle  hours,  of 
a  hardy  throng  of  fishermen,  in  red  baize  shirts,  oil- 
cloth trousers,  and  boots  of  brown  leather  covering  the 
whole  leg;  true  seven-league  boots,  but  fitter  to  wade 
the  ocean  than  walk  the  earth.  The  wearers  seemed 
amphibious,  as  if  they  did  but  creep  out  of  salt  water 
to  sun  themselves;  nor  would  it  have  been  wonderful 
to  see  their  lower  limbs  covered  with  clusters  of  little 
shellfish,  such  as  cling  to  rocks  and  old  ship-timber 
over  which  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows.  When  their  fleet 
of  boats  was  weather-bound,  the  butchers  raised  their 
price,  and  the  spit  was  busier  than  the  frying-pan;  for 
this  was  a  place  of  fish,  and  known  as  such,  to  all  the 
country  round  about;  the  very  air  was  fishy,  being 
perfumed  with  dead  sculpins,  hardheads,  and  dogfish, 
strewn  plentifully  on  the  beach.  You  see,  children, 
the  village  is  but  little  changed,  since  your  mother  and 
I  were  young. 

How  like  a  dream  it  was,  when  I  bent  over  a  pool 
of  water,  one  pleasant  morning,  and  saw  that  the  ocean 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  87 

had  dashed  its  spray  over  me  and  made  me  a  fisherman  I 
There  were  the  tarpauliiig,  the  baize  shirt,  the  oil-cloth 
trousers  and  seven-league  boots,  and  there  my  own  fea- 
tures, but  so  reddened  with  sunburn  and  sea-breezes, 
that  methought  I  had  another  face,  and  on  other  shoul- 
ders too.  The  sea-gulls  and  the  loons,  and  I,  had  now 
all  one  trade ;  we  skimmed  the  crested  waves  and  sought 
our  prey  beneath  them,  the  man  with  as  keen  enjoy- 
ment as  the  birds.  Always,  when  the  east  grew  purple, 
I  launched  my  dory,  my  little  flat-bottomed  skiff,  and 
rowed  cross-handed  to  Point  Ledge,  the  Middle  Ledge, 
or,  perhaps,  beyond  Egg  Rock ;  often,  too,  did  I  anchor 
off  Dread  Ledge,  a  spot  of  peril  to  ships  unpiloted ;  and 
sometimes  spread  an  adventurous  sail  and  tracked  across 
the  bay  to  South  Shore,  casting  my  lines  in  sight  of 
Scituate.  Ere  nightfall,  I  hauled  my  skiff  high  and  dry 
on  the  beach,  laden  with  red  rock -cod,  or  the  white- 
bellied  ones  of  deep  water ;  haddock,  bearing  the  black 
marks  of  St.  Peter's  fingers  near  the  gills ;  the  long- 
bearded  hake,  whose  liver  holds  oil  enough  for  a  mid- 
night lamp ;  and  now  and  then  a  mighty  halibut,  with 
a  back  broad  as  my  boat.  In  the  autumn,  I  trolled  and 
caught  those  lovely  fish,  the  mackerel.  When  the  wind 
was  high,  —  when  the  whale-boats,  anchored  off  the 
Point,  nodded  their  slender  masts  at  each  other,  and 
the  dories  pitched  and  tossed  in  the  surf,  —  when  Na- 
liaut  Beach  was  thundering  three  miles  off,  and  the 
spray  broke  a  hundred  feet  in  air,  round  the  distant 
base  of  Egg  Rock,  —  when  the  brimful  and  boisterous 
sea  threatened  to  tumble  over  the  street  of  our  village, 
—  then  I  made  a  holiday  on  shore. 

Many  such  a  day  did  I  sit  snugly  in  Mr.  Bartlett's 
store,  attentive  to  the  yarns  of  Uncle  Parker ;  uncle  to 
the  whole  village,  by  right  of  seniority,  but  of  Southern 


88  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

blood,  with  no  kindred  in  New  England.  His  figure  is 
before  me  now,  enthroned  upon  a  mackerel-barrel;  a 
lean  old  man,  of  great  height,  but  bent  with  years,  and 
twisted  into  an  uncouth  shape  by  seven  broken  limbs ; 
furrowed  also,  and  weather-worn,  as  if  every  gale,  for 
the  better  part  of  a  century,  had  caught  him  somewhere 
on  the  sea.  He  looked  like  a  harbinger  of  tempest,  a 
shipmate  of  the  Flying  Dutchman.  After  innumerable 
voyages  aboard  men-of-war  and  merchant-men,  fishing- 
schooners  and  chebacco-boats,  the  old  salt  had  become 
master  of  a  handcart,  which  he  daily  trundled  about  the 
vicinity,  and  sometimes  blew  his  fish-horn  through  the 
streets  of  Salem.  One  of  Uncle  Parker's  eyes  had  been 
blown  out  with  gunpowder,  and  the  other  did  but  glim- 
mer in  its  socket.  Turning  it  upward  as  he  spoke,  it 
was  his  delight  to  tell  of  cruises  against  the  French,  and 
battles  with  his  own  shipmates,  when  he  and  an  antago- 
nist used  to  be  seated  astride  of  a  sailor's  chest,  each 
fastened  down  by  a  spike-nail  through  his  trousers,  and 
there  to  fight  it  out.  Sometimes  he  expatiated  on  the 
delicious  flavor  of  the  hagden,  a  greasy  and  goose-like 
fowl,  which  the  sailors  catch  with  hook  and  line  on  the 
Grand  Banks.  He  dwelt  with  rapture  on  an  intermina- 
ble whiter  at  the  Isle  of  Sables,  where  he  had  gladdened 
himself,  amid  polar  snows,  with  the  rum  and  sugar  saved 
from  the  wreck  of  a  West  India  schooner.  And  wrath- 
fully  did  he  shake  his  fist,  as  he  related  how  a  party  of 
Cape  Cod  men  had  robbed  him  and  his  companions  of 
their  lawful  spoil,  and  sailed  away  with  every  keg  of  old 
Jamaica,  leaving  him  not  a  drop  to  drown  his  sorrow. 
Villains  they  were,  and  of  that  wicked  brotherhood  who 
are  said  to  tie  lanterns  to  horses'  tails,  to  mislead  the 
mariner  along  the  dangerous  shores  of  the  Cape. 

Even  now  I  seem  to  see  the  group  of  fishermen,  with 


THE    VILLAGE    TJNCLE.  89 

that  old  salt  in  the  midst.  One  fellow  sits  on  the  coun- 
ter, a  second  bestrides  an  oil-barrel,  a  third  lolls  at  his 
length  on  a  parcel  of  new  cod-lines,  and  another  has 
planted  the  tarry  seat  of  his  trousers  on  a  heap  of  salt, 
which  will  shortly  be  sprinkled  over  a  lot  of  fish.  They 
are  a  likely  set  of  men.  Some  have  voyaged  to  the  East 
Indies  or  the  Pacific,  and  most  of  them  have  sailed  in 
Marblehead  schooners  to  Newfoundland ;  a  few  have  been 
no  farther  than  the  Middle  Banks,  and  one  or  two  have 
always  fished  along  the  shore ;  but,  as  Uncle  Parker  used 
to  say,  they  have  all  been  christened  in  salt  water,  and 
know  more  than  men  ever  learn  in  the  bushes.  A  curi- 
ous figure,  by  way  of  contrast,  is  a  fish-dealer  from  far- 
up  country,  listening  with  eyes  wide  open  to  narratives 
that  might  startle  Sindbad  the  sailor.  Be  it  well  with 
you,  my  brethren !  Ye  are  all  gone,  some  to  your  graves 
ashore,  and  others  to  the  depths  of  ocean ;  but  my  faith 
is  strong  that  ye  are  happy  ;  for  whenever  I  behold  your 
forms,  whether  in  dream  or  vision,  each  departed  friend 
is  puffing  his  long-nine,  and  a  mug  of  the  right  black- 
strap goes  round  from  lip  to  lip. 

But  where  was  the  mermaid  in  those  delightful  times  ? 
At  a  certain  window  near  the  centre  of  the  village  ap- 
peared a  pretty  display  of  gingerbread  men  and  horses, 
picture-books  and  ballads,  small  fish-hooks,  pins,  needles, 
sugar-plums,  and  brass  thimbles,  articles  on  which  the 
young  fishermen  used  to  expend  their  money  from  pure 
gallantry.  What  a  picture  was  Susan  behind  the  coun- 
ter !  A  slender  maiden,  though  the  child  of  rugged 
parents,  she  had  the  slimmest  of  all  waists,  brown  hair 
curling  on  her  neck,  and  a  complexion  rather  pale,  except 
when  the  sea-breeze  flushed  it.  A  few.  freckles  became 
beauty-spots  beneath  her  eyelids.  How  was  it,  Susan, 
that  you  talked  and  acted  so  carelessly,  yet  always  for  the 


90  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

best,  doing  whatever  was  right  in  your  own  eyes,  and  never 
once  doing  wrong  in  mine,  nor  shocked  a  taste  that  had 
been  morbidly  sensitive  till  now  ?  And  whence  had  you 
that  happiest  gift,  of  brightening  every  topic  with  an  un- 
sought gayety,  quiet  but  irresistible,  so  that  even  gloomy 
spirits  felt  your  sunshine,  and  did  not  shrink  from  it  ? 
Nature  wrought  the  charm.  She  made  you  a  frank,  sim- 
ple, kind-hearted,  sensible,  and  mirthful  girl.  Obeying 
nature,  you  did  free  things  without  indelicacy,  displayed 
a  maiden's  thoughts  to  every  eye,  and  proved  yourself  as 
innocent  as  naked  Eve. 

It  was  beautiful  to  observe,  how  her  simple  and 
happy  nature  mingled  itself  with  mine.  She  kindled  a 
domestic  fire  within  my  heart,  and  took  up  her  dwell- 
ing there,  even  in  that  chill  and  lonesome  cavern  hung 
round  wi,th  glittering  icicles  of  fancy.  She  gave  me 
warmth  of  feeling,  while  the  influence  of  my  mind  made 
her  contemplative.  I  taught  her  to  love  the  moonlight 
hour,  when  the  expanse  of  the  encircled  bay  was  smooth 
as  a  great  mirror  and  slept  in  a  transparent  shadow ; 
while  beyond  Nahant,  the  wind  rippled  the  dim  ocean 
into  a  dreamy  brightness,  which  grew  faint  afar  off,  with- 
out becoming  gloomier.  I  held  her  hand  and  pointed 
to  the  long  surf  wave,  as  it  rolled  calmly  on  the  beach,  in 
an  unbroken  line  of  silver ;  we  were  silent  together,  till 
its  deep  and  peaceful  murmur  had  swept  by  us:  When 
the  Sabbath  sun  shone  down  into  the  recesses  of  the 
cliffs,  I  led  the  mermaid  thither,  and  told  her  that  those 
huge,  gray,  shattered  rocks,  and  her  native  sea,  that 
raged  forever  like  a  storm  against  them,  and  her  own 
slender  beauty,  in  so  stern  a  scene,  were  all  combined 
into  a  strain  of  poetry.  But  on  the  Sabbath  eve,  when 
her  mother  had  gone  early  to  bed,  and  her  gentle  sister 
had  smiled  and  left  us,  as  we  sat  alone  by  the  quiet  hearth, 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  91 

with  household  things  around,  it  was  her  turn  to  make 
me  feel  that  here  was  a  deeper  poetry,  and  that  this  was 
the  dearest  hour  of  all.  Thus  went  on  our  wooing,  till 
I  had  shot  wild-fowl  enough  to  feather  our  bridal  bed, 
and  the  Daughter  of  the  Sea  was  mine. 

I  built  a  cottage  for  Susan  and  myself,  and  made  a 
gateway  in  the  form  of  a  Gothic  arch,  by  setting  up  a 
whale's  jaw-bones.  We  bought  a  heifer  with  her  first 
calf,  and  had  a  little  garden  on  the  hillside,  to  supply  us 
with  potatoes  and  green  sauce  for  our  fish.  Our  parlor 
small  and  neat,  was  ornamented  with  our  two  profiles  in 
one  gilt  frame,  and  with  shells  and  pretty  pebbles  on  the 
mantel-piece,  selected  from  the  sea's  treasury  of  such 
things,  on  Nahant  Beach.  On  the  desk,  beneath  the 
looking-glass,  lay  the  Bible,  which  I  had  begun  to  read 
aloud  at  the  Book  of  Genesis,  and  the  singing-book  that 
Susan  used  for  her  evening  psalm.  Except  the  almanac, 
we  had  no  other  literature.  All  that  I  heard  of  books, 
was  when  an  Indian  history,  or  tale  of  shipwreck,  was 
sold  by  a  pedler  or  wandering  subscription-man,  to  some 
one  in  the  village,  and  read  through  its  owner's  nose  to 
a  slumberous  auditory.  Like  my  brother  fishermen,  I 
grew  into  the  belief  that  all  human  erudition  was  col- 
lected in  onr  pedagogue,  whose  green  spectacles  and 
solemn  phiz,  as  he  passed  to  his  little  school-house,  amid 
a  waste  of  sand,  might  have  gained  him  a  diploma  from 
any  college  in  New  England.  In  truth  I  dreaded  him. 
When  our  children  were  old  enough  to  claim  his  care, 
you  remember,  Susan,  how  I  frowned,  though  you  were 
pleased,  at  this  learned  man's  encomiums  on  their  pro- 
ficiency. I  feared  to  trust  them  even  with  the  alphabet ; 
it  was  the  key  to  a  fatal  treasure. 

But  I  loved  to  lead  them  by  their  little  hands  along 
the  beach,  and  point  to  nature  in  the  vast  and  the  minute, 


92  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  sky,  the  sea,  the  green  earth,  the  pebbles,  and  the 
shells.  Then  did  I  discourse  of  the  mighty  works  aim 
coextensive  goodness  of  the  Deity,  with  the  simple  wis- 
dom of  a  man  whose  mind  had  profited  by  lonely  days 
upon  the  deep,  and  his  heart  by  the  strong  and  pure 
affections  of  his  evening  home.  Sometimes  my  voice 
lost  itself  in  a  tremulous  depth ;  for  I  felt  His  eye  upon 
me  as  I  spoke.  Once,  while  my  wife  and  all  of  us  were 
gazing  at  ourselves,  in  the  mirror  left  by  the  tide  in  a 
hollow  of  the  sand,  I  pointed  to  the  pictured  heaven 
below,  and  bade  her  observe  how  religion  was  strewn 
everywhere  in  our  path;  since  even  a  casual  pool  of 
water  recalled  the  idea  of  that  home  whither  we  were 
travelling,  to  rest  forever  with  our  children.  Suddenly, 
your  image,  Susan,  and  all  the  little  faces  made  up  of 
yours  and  mine,  seemed  to  fade  away  and  vanish  around 
me,  leaving  a  pale  visage  like  my  own  of  former  days 
within  the  frame  of  a  large  looking-glass.  Strange  illu- 
sion! 

My  life  glided  on,  the  past  appearing  to  mingle  with 
the  present  and  absorb  the  future,  till  the  whole  lies 
before  me  at  a  glance.  My  manhood  has  long  been 
waning  with  a  stanch  decay ;  my  earlier  contemporaries, 
after  lives  of  unbroken  health,  are  all  at  Test,  without 
having  known  the  weariness  of  later  age ;  and  now,  with 
a  wrinkled  forehead  and  thin  white  hair  as  badges  of 
my  dignity,  I  have  become  the  patriarch,  the  Uncle  of  the 
village.  I  love  that  name;  it  widens  the  circle  of  my 
sympathies ;  it  joins  all  the  youthful  to  my  household,  in 
the  kindred  of  affection. 

Like  Uncle  Parker,  whose  rheumatic  bones  were  dashed 
against  Egg  Rock,  full  forty  years  ago,  I  am  a  spinner 
of  long  yarns.  Seated  on  the  gunwale  of  a  dory,  or  on 
the  sunny  side  of  a  boat-house,  where  the  warmth  is 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  93 

grateful  to  my  limbs,  or  by  my  own  hearth,  when  a  friend 
or  two  are  there,  I  overflow  with  talk,  and  yet  am  never 
tedious.  With  a  broken  voice  I  give  utterance  to  much 
wisdom.  Such,  Heaven  be  praised !  is  the  vigor  of  my 
faculties,  that  many  a  forgotten  usage,  and  traditions 
ancient  in  my  youth,  and  early  adventures  of  myself  or 
others,  hitherto  effaced  by  things  more  recent,  acquire 
new  distinctness  in  my  memory.  I  remember  the  happy 
days  when  the  haddock  were  more  numerous  on  all  the 
fishing-grounds  than  sculpins  in  the  surf;  when  the  deep- 
water  cod  swam  close  in  shore,  and  the  dogfish,  with  his 
poisonous  horn,  had  not  learned  to  take  the  hook.  I  can 
number  every  equinoctial  storm,  in  which  the  sea  has 
overwhelmed  the  street,  flooded  the  cellars  of  the  village, 
and  hissed  upon  our  kitchen  hearth.  I  give  the  history 
of  the  great  whale  that  was  landed  on  Whale  Beach,  and 
whose  jaws,  being  now  my  gateway,  will  last  for  ages 
after  my  coffin  shall  have  passed  beneath  them.  Thence 
it  is  an  easy  digression  to  the  halibut,  scarcely  smaller 
than  the  whale,  which  ran  out  six  cod-lines,  and  hauled 
my  dory  to  the  mouth  of  Boston  Harbor,  before  I  could 
touch  him  with  the  gaff. 

If  melancholy  accidents  be  the  theme  of  conversation, 
I  tell  how  a  friend  of  mine  was  taken  out  of  his  boat  by 
an  enormous  shark;  and  the  sad,  true  tale  of  a  young 
man  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  who  had  been  nine  days 
missing,  when  his  drowned  body  floated  into  the  very 
pathway,  on  Marblehead  Neck,  that  had  often  led  him 
to  the  dwelling  of  his  bride ;  as  if  the  dripping  corpse 
would  have  come  where  the  mourner  was.  With  such 
awful  fidelity  did  that  lover  return  to  fulfil  his  vows! 
Another  favorite  story  is  of  a  crazy  maiden,  who  con- 
versed with  angels  and  had  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and 
whom  all  the  village  loved  and  pitied,  though  she  went 


94  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

from  door  to  door  accusing  us  of  sin,  exhorting  to 
repentance,  and  foretelling  our  destruction  by  flood  or 
earthquake.  If  the  young  men  boast  their  knowledge 
of  the  ledges  and  sunken  rocks,  I  speak  of  pilots,  who 
knew  the  wind  by  its  scent  and  the  wave  by  its  taste, 
and  could  have  steered  blindfold  to  any  port  between 
Boston  and  Mount  Desert,  guided  only  by  the  rote  of 
the  shore ;  the  peculiar  sound  of  the  surf  on  each  island, 
beach,  and  line  of  rocks,  along  the  coast.  Thus  do  I 
talk,  and  all  my  auditors  grow  wise,  while  they  deem  it 
pastime. 

I  recollect  no  happier  portion  of  my  life,  than  this,  my 
calm  old  age.  It  is  like  the  sunny  and  sheltered  slope  of 
a  valley,  where,  late  in  the  autumn,  the  grass  is  greener 
than  in  August,  and  intermixed  with  golden  dandelions, 
that  have  not  been  seen  till  now,  since  the  first  warmth 
of  the  year.  But  with  me,  the  verdure  and  the  flowers 
are  not  frostbitten  in  the  midst  of  winter.  A  playfulness 
has  revisited  my  mind  ;  a  sympathy  with  the  young  and 
gay ;  an  unpainful  interest  in  the  business  of  others ;  a 
light  and  wandering  curiosity  ;  arising,  perhaps,  from  the 
sense  that  my  toil  on  earth  is  ended,  and  the  brief  hour 
till  bedtime  may  be  spent  in  play.  Still,  I  have  fancied 
that  there  is  a  depth  of  feeling  and  reflection,  under  this 
superficial  levity,  peculiar  to  one  who  has  lived  long,  and 
is  soon  to  die. 

Show  me  anything  that  would  make  an  infant  smile, 
and  you  shall  behold  a  gleam  of  mirth  over  the  hoary 
ruin  of  my  visage.  I  can  spend  a  pleasant  hour  in  the 
sun,  watching  the  sports  of  the  village  children,  on  the 
edge  of  the  surf ;  now  they  chase  the  retreating  wave  far 
down  over  the  wet  sand ;  now  it  steals  softly  up  to  kiss 
their  naked  feet ;  now  it  comes  onward  with  threatening 
front,  and  roars  after  the  laughing  crew,  as  they  scamper 


THE    VILLAGE    UNCLE.  95 

beyond  its  reach.  Why  should  not  an  old  man  be  merry 
too,  when  the  great  sea  is  at  play  with  those  little  chil- 
dren ?  I  delight,  also,  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  a  pleasure- 
party  of  young  men  and  girls,  strolling  along  the  beach 
after  an  early  supper  at  the  Point.  Here,  with  hand- 
kerchiefs at  nose,  they  bend  over  a  heap  of  eel-grass,  en- 
tangled in  which  is  a  dead  skate,  so  oddly  accoutred  with 
two  legs  and  a  long  tail,  that  they  mistake  him  for  a 
drowned  animal.  A  few  steps  farther,  the  ladies  scream, 
and  the  gentlemen  make  ready  to  protect  them  against  a 
young  shark  of  the  dogfish  kind,  rolling  with  a  life-like 
motion  in  the  tide  that  has  thrown  him  up.  Next,  they 
are  smit  with  wonder  at  the  black  shells  of  a  wagon-load 
of  live  lobsters,  packed  in  rock-weed  for  the  country  mar- 
ket. And  when  they  reach  the  fleet  of  dories,  just  hauled 
ashore  after  the  day's  fishing,  how  do  I  laugh  in  my  sleeve, 
and  sometimes  roar  outright,  at  the  simplicity  of  these 
young  folks  and  the  sly  humor  of  the  fishermen!  In 
winter,  when  our  village  is  thrown  into  a  bustle  by  the 
arrival  of  perhaps  a  score  of  country  dealers,  bargaining 
for  frozen  fish,  to  be  transported  hundreds  of  miles,  and 
eaten  fresh  in  Vermont  or  Canada,  I  am  a  pleased  but 
idle  spectator  in  the  throng.  For  I  launch  my  boat  no 
more. 

When  the  shore  was  solitary,  I  have  found  a  pleasure 
that  seemed  even  to  exalt  my  mind,  in  observing  the 
sports  or  contentions  of  two  gulls,  as  they  wheeled  and 
hovered  about  each  other,  with  hoarse  screams,  one  mo- 
ment flapping  on  the  foam  of  the  wave,  and  then  soaring 
aloft,  till  their  white  bosoms  melted  into  the  upper  sun- 
shine. In  the  calm  of  the  summer  sunset,  I  drag  my 
aged  limbs,  with  a  little  ostentation  of  activity,  because  I 
am  so  old,  up  to  the  rocky  brow  of  the  hill.  There  I  see 
the  white  sails  of  many  a  vessel,  outward  bound  or  home- 


96  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ward  from  afar,  and  the  black  trail  of  a  vapor  behind  the 
eastern  steamboat ;  there,  too,  is  the  sun,  going  down, 
but  not  in  gloom,  and  there  the  illimitable  ocean  mingling 
with  the  sky,  to  remind  me  of  eternity. 

But  sweetest  of  all  is  the  hour  of  cheerful  musing  and 
pleasant  talk,  that  comes  between  the  dusk  and  the  lighted 
candle,  by  my  glowing  fireside.  And  never,  even  on  the 
first  Thanksgiving  night,  when  Susan  and  I  sat  alone  with 
our  hopes,  nor  the  second,  when  a  stranger  had  been  sent 
to  gladden  us,  and  be  the  visible  image  of  our  affection, 
did  I  feel  such  joy  as  now.  All  that  belong  to  me  are 
here;  Death  has  taken  none,  nor  Disease  kept  them 
away,  nor  Strife  divided  them  from  their  parents  or  each 
other ;  with  neither  poverty  nor  riches  to  disturb  them, 
nor  the  misery  of  desires  beyond  their  lot,  they  have  kept 
New  England's  festival  round  the  patriarch's  board.  For 
I  am  a  patriarch  !  Here  I  sit  among  my  descendants,  in 
my  old  arm-chair  and  immemorial  corner,  while  the  fire- 
light throws  an  appropriate  glory  round  my  venerable 
frame.  Susan !  My  children !  Something  whispers  me, 
that  this  happiest  hour  must  be  the  final  one,  and  that 
nothing  remains  but  to  bless  you  all,  and  depart  with  a 
treasure  of  recollected  joys  to  heaven.  Will  you  meet 
me  there  ?  Alas  !  your  figures  grow  indistinct,  fading 
into  pictures  on  the  air,  and  now  to  fainter  outlines,  while 
the  fire  is  glimmering  on  the  walls  of  a  familiar  room,  and 
shows  the  book  that  I  flung  down,  and  the  sheet  that  I 
left  half  written,  some  fifty  years  ago.  I  lift  my  eyes  to 
the  looking-glass,  and  perceive  myself  alone,  unless  those 
be  the  mermaid's  features,  retiring  into  the  depths  of  the 
mirror,  with  a  tender  and  melancholy  smile. 

Ah !  one  feels  a  chillness,  not  bodily,  but  about  the 
heart,  and,  moreover,  a  foolish  dread  of  looking  behind 
him,  after  these  pastimes.  I  can  imagine  precisely  how 


THE    VILLAGE    UXCLE.  97 

a  magician  would  sit  down  in  gloom  and  terror,  after 
dismissing  the  shadows  that  had  personated  dead  or  dis- 
tant people,  and  stripping  his  cavern  of  the  unreal  splendor 
which  had  changed  it  to  a  palace.  And  now  for  a  moral 
to  my  revery.  Shall  it  be,  that,  since  fancy  can  create 
so  bright  a  dream  of  happiness,  it  were  better  to  dream 
on  from  youth  to  age,  than  to  awake  and  strive  doubt- 
fully for  something  real !  O,  the  slight  tissue  of  a  dream 
can  no  more  preserve  us  from  the  stern  reality  of  misfor- 
tune, than  a  robe  of  cobweb  could  repel  the  wintry  blast. 
Be  this  the  moral,  then.  In  chaste  and  warm  affections, 
humble  wishes,  and  honest  toil  for  some  useful  end,  there 
is  health  for  the  mind,  and  quiet  for  the  heart,  the  pros- 
pect of  a  happy  life,  and  the  fairest  hope  of  heaven. 


VOL.  II. 


THE  AMBITIOUS  GUEST. 

IE  September  night,  a  family  had  gathered 
round  their  hearth,  and  piled  it  high  with  the 
drift-wood  of  mountain  streams,  the  dry  cones 
of  the  pine,  and  the  splintered  ruins  of  great  trees,  that 
had  come  crashing  down  the  precipice.  Up  the  chimney 
roared  the  fire,  and  brightened  the  room  with  its  broad 
blaze.  The  face-3  of  the  father  and  mother  had  a  sober 
gladness  ;  the  children  laughed ;  the  eldest  daughter  was 
the  image  of  Happiness  at  seventeen ;  and  the  aged 
grandmother,  who  sat  knitting  in  the  warmest  place,  was 
the  image  of  Happiness  grown  old.  They  had  found 
the  "  herb,  heart's-ease,"  in  the  bleakest  spot  of  all 
New  England.  This  family  were  situated  in  the  Notch 
of  the  White  Hills,  where  the  wind  was  sharp  through- 
out the  year,  and  pitilessly  cold  in  the  winter,  —  giving 
their  cottage  all  its  fresh  inclemency,  before  it  descended 
on  the  valley  of  the  Saco.  They  dwelt  in  a  cold  spot 
and  a  dangerous  one ;  for  a  mountain  towered  above 
their  heads,  so  steep,  that  the  stones  would  often  rumble 
down  its  sides,  and  startle  them  at  midnight. 

The  daughter  had  just  uttered  some  simple  jest,  that 
filled  them  all  with  mirth,  when  the  wind  came  through 
the  Notch  and  seemed  to  pause  before  their  cottage,  — - 
rattling  the  door,  with  a  sound  of  wailing  and  lamenta- 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  99 

tion,  before  it  passed  into  the  valley.  For  a  moment, 
it  saddened  them,  though  there  was  nothing  unusual  in 
the  tones.  But  the  family  were  glad  again,  when  they 
perceived  that  the  latch  was  lifted  by  some  traveller, 
whose  footsteps  had  been  unheard  amid  the  dreary  blast, 
which  heralded  his  approach,  and  wailed  as  he  was  en- 
tering, and  went  moaning  away  from  the  door. 

Though  they  dwelt  in  such  a  solitude,  these  people 
held  daily  converse  with  the  world.  The  romantic  pass 
of  the  Notch  is  a  great  artery,  through  which  the  life- 
blood  of  internal  commerce  is  continually  throbbing,  be- 
tween Maine  on  one  side  and  the  Green  Mountains  and 
the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence  on  the  other.  The  stage- 
coach always  drew  up  before  the  door  of  the  cottage. 
The  wayfarer,  with  no  companion  but  his  staff,  paused 
here  to  exchange  a  word,  that  the  sense  of  loneliness 
might  not  utterly  overcome  him,  ere  he  could  pass 
through  the  cleft  of  the  mountain,  or  reach  the  first 
house  in  the  valley.  And  here  the  teamster,  on  his  way 
to  Portland  market,  would  put  up  for  the  night ;  and,  if 
a  bachelor,  might  sit  an  hour  beyond  the  usual  bedtime, 
and  steal  a  kiss  from  the  mountain-maid,  at  parting.  It 
was  one  of  those  primitive  taverns,  where  the  traveller 
pays  only  for  food  and  lodging,  but  meets  with  a  homely 
kindness,  beyond  all  price.  When  the  footsteps  were 
heard,  therefore,  between  the  outer  door  and  the  inner 
one,  the  whole  family  rose  up,  grandmother,  children, 
and  all,  as  if  about  to  welcome  some  one  who  belonged 
to  them,  and  whose  fate  was  linked  with  theirs. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  young  man.  His  face  at 
first  wore  the  melancholy  expression,  almost  despond- 
ency, of  one  who  travels  a  wild  and  bleak  road,  at 
nightfall  and  alone,  but  soon  brightened  up.  when  he 
saw  the  kindly  warmth  of  his  reception.  He  felt  bis 


100  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

heart  spring  forward  to  meet  them  all,  from  the  old 
woman,  who  wiped  a  chair  with  her  apron,  to  the  little 
child  that  held  out  its  arms  to  him.  One  glance  and 
smile  placed  the  stranger  on  a  footing  of  innocent  famil- 
iarity with  the  eldest  daughter. 

"  Ah,  this  fire  is  the  right  thing  !  "  cried  he  ;  "  espe- 
cially when  there  is  such  a  pleasant  circle  round  it.  I 
am  quite  benumbed  ;  for  the  Notch  is  just  like  the  pipe 
of  a  great  pair  of  bellows  ;  it  has  blown  a  terrible  blast 
in  my  face,  all  the  way  from  Bartlett." 

"Then  you  are  going  towards  Vermont?"  said  the 
master  of  the  house,  as  he  helped  to  take  a  light  knap- 
sack off  the  young  man's  shoulders. 

"  Yes ;  to  Burlington,  and  far  enough  beyond,"  re- 
plied he.  "  I  meant  to  have  been  at  Ethan  Crawford's 
to-night ;  but  a  pedestrian  lingers  along  such  a  road  as 
this.  It  is  no  matter ;  for,  when  I  saw  this  good  fire, 
and  all  your  cheerful  faces,  I  felt  as  if  you  had  kindled 
it  on  purpose  for  me,  and  were  waiting  my  arrival.  So 
I  shall  sit  down  among  you,  and  make  myself  at  home." 

The  frank-hearted  stranger  had  just  drawn  his  chair 
to  the  fire,  when  something  like  a  heavy  footstep  was 
heard  without,  rushing  down  the  steep  side  of  the  moun- 
tain, as  with  long  and  rapid  strides,  and  taking  such  a 
leap,  in  passing  the  cottage,  as  to  strike  the  opposite 
precipice.  The  family  held  their  breath,  because  they 
knew  the  sound,  and  their  guest  held  his,  by  instinct. 

"  The  old  mountain  has  thrown  a  stone  at  us,  for  fear 
we  should  forget  him,"  said  the  landlord,  recovering 
himself.  "  He  sometimes  nods  his  head,  and  threatens 
to  come  down;  but  we  are  old  neighbors,  and  agree 
together  pretty  well,  upon  the  whole.  Besides,  we  have 
a  sure  place  of  refuge,  hard  by,  if  he  should  be  coming  in 
good  earnest." 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  101 

Let  us  now  suppose  the  stranger  to  have  finished  his 
supper  of  bear's  meat ;  and,  by  his  natural  felicity  of 
manner,  to  have  placed  himself  on  a  footing  of  kindness 
with  the  whole  family,  so  that  they  talked  as  freely  to- 
gether, as  if  he  belonged  to  their  mountain  brood.  He 
was  of  a  proud,  yet  gentle  spirit,  —  haughty  and  reserved 
among  the  rich  and  great ;  but  ever  ready  to  stoop  his 
head  to  the  lowly  cottage  door,  and  be  like  a  brother  or 
a  son  at  the  poor  man's  fireside.  In  the  household  of 
the  Notch,  he  found  warmth  and  simplicity  of  feeling, 
the  pervading  intelligence  of  New  England,  and  a  poetry 
of  native  growth,  which  they  had  gathered,  when  they 
little  thought  of  it,  from  the  mountain  peaks  and  chasms, 
and  at  the  very  threshold  of  their  romantic  and  dangerous 
abode.  He  had  travelled  far  and  alone  ;  his  whole  life, 
indeed,  had  been  a  solitary  path  ;  for,  with  the  lofty  cau- 
tion of  his  nature,  he  had  kept  himself  apart  from  those 
who  might  otherwise  have  been  his  companions.  The 
family,  too,  though  so  kind  and  hospitable,  had  that  con- 
sciousness of  unity  among  themselves,  and  separation 
from  the  world  at  large,  which,  in  every  domestic  circle, 
should  still  keep  a  holy  place,  where  no  stranger  may  in- 
trude. But,  this  evening,  a  prophetic  sympathy  impelled 
the  refined  and  educated  youth  to  pour  out  his  heart 
before  the  simple  mountaineers,  and  constrained  them  to 
answer  him  with  the  same  free  confidence.  And  thus  it 
should  have  been.  Is  not  the  kindred  of  a  common  fate 
a  closer  tie  than  that  of  birth? 

The  secret  of  the  young  man's  character  was,  a  high 
and  abstracted  ambition.  He  could  have  borne  to  live 
an  undistinguished  life,  but  not  to  be  forgotten  in  the 
grave.  Yearning  desire  had  been  transformed  to  hope  ; 
and  hope,  long  cherished,  had  become  like  certainty,  that, 
obscurely  as  he  journeyed  now,  a  glory  was  to  beam  on 


102  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

all  his  pathway,  —  though  not,  perhaps,  while  he  was 
treading  it.  But,  when  posterity  should  gaze  back  into 
the  gloom  of  what  was  now  the  present,  they  would 
trace  the  brightness  of  his  footsteps,  brightening  as 
meaner  glories  faded,  and  confess,  that  a  gifted  one  had 
passed  from  his  cradle  to  his  tomb,  with  none  to  recog- 
nize him. 

"As  yet,"  cried  tlie  stranger,  his  cheek  glowing  and 
his  eye  flashing*  with  enthusiasm,  —  "  as  yet,  I  have  done 
nothing.  Were  I  to  vanish  from  the  earth  to-morrow, 
none  would  know  so  much  of  me  as  you ;  that  a  nameless 
youth  came  up,  at  nightfall,  from  the  valley  of  the  Saco, 
and  opened  his  heart  to  you  in  the  evening,  and  passed 
through  the  Notch,  by  sunrise,  and  was  seen  no  more. 
Not  a  soul  would  ask,  'Who  was  he?  Whither  did 
the  wanderer  go  ? '  But,  I  cannot  die  till  I  have  achieved 
my  destiny.  Then,  let  Death  come  !  I  shall  have  built 
my  monument ! " 

There  was  a  continual  flow  of  natural  emotion,  gushing 
forth  amid  abstracted  revery,  which  enabled  the  family 
to  understand  this  young  man's  sentiments,  though  so 
foreign  from  their  own.  With  quick  sensibility  of  the 
ludicrous,  he  blushed  at  the  ardor  into  which  he  had  been 
betrayed. 

"You  laugh  at  me,"  said  he,  taking  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter's hand,  and  laughing  himself.  "You  think  my 
ambition  as  nonsensical  as  if  I  were  to  freeze  myself 
to  death  on  the  top  of  Mount  Washington,  only  that 
people  might  spy  at  me  from  the  country  round  about. 
And  truly,  that  would  be  a  noble  pedestal  for  a  man's 
statue ! " 

"  It  is  better  to  sit  here  by  this  fire,"  answered  the  girl, 
blushing,  "  and  be  comfortable  and  contented,  though  no- 
body thinks  about  us." 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  103 

"I  suppose,"  said  her  father,  after  a  fit  of  musing, 
"there  is  something  natural  in  what  the  young  man  says ; 
and  if  my  mind  had  been  turned  that  way,  I  might  have 
felt  just  the  same.  It  is  strange,  wife,  how  his  talk  has 
set  my  head  running  on  things  that  are  pretty  certain 
never  to  come  to  pass." 

"  Perhaps  they  may,"  observed  the  wife.  "  Is  the  man 
thinking  what  he  will  do  when  he  is  a  widower  ?  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  he,  repelling  the  idea  with  reproach- 
ful kindness.  "  When  I  think  of  your  death,  Esther,  I 
think  of  mine,  too.  .But  I  was  wishing  we  had  a  good 
farm,  in  Bartlett,  or  Bethlehem,  or  Littleton,  or  some 
other  township  round  the  White  Mountains ;  but  not 
where  they  could  tumble  on  our  heads.  I  should  want 
to  stand  well  with  my  neighbors,  and  be  called  Squire, 
and  sent  to  General  Court  for  a  term  or  two ;  for  a 
plain,  honest  man  may  do  as  much  good  there  as  a 
lawyer.  And  when  I  should  be  grown  quite  an  old 
man,  and  you  an  old  woman,  so  as  not  to  be  long  apart, 
I  might  die  happy  enough  in  my  bed,  and  leave  you  all 
crying  around  me.  A  slate  gravestone  would  suit  me 
as  well  as  a  marble  one,  — with  just  my  name  and  age, 
and  a  verse  of  a  hymn,  and  something  to  let  people 
know  that  I  lived  an  honest  man  and  died  a  Christian." 

"  There  now  !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger ;  "  it  is  our 
nature  to  desire  a  monument,  be  it  slate,  or  marble,  or  a 
pillar  of  granite,  or  a  glorious  memory  in  the  universal 
heart  of  man." 

"  We  're  in  a  strange  way,  to-night,"  said  the  wife, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  They  say  it 's  a  sign  of  some- 
thing, when  folks'  minds  go  a  wandering  so.  Hark  to 
the  children !  " 

They  listened  accordingly.  The  younger  children  had 
been  put  to  bed  in  another  room,  but  with  an  open  door 


104;  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

between,  so  that  they  could  be  heard  talking  busily  among 
themselves.  One  and  all  seemed  to  have  caught  the  in- 
fection from  the  fireside  circle,  and  were  outvying  each 
other  in  wild  wishes  and  childish  projects  of  what  they 
would  do  when  they  came  to  be  men  and  women.  At 
length,  a  little  boy,  instead  of  addressing  his  brothers  and 
sisters,  called  out  to  his  mother. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  wish,  mother,"  cried  he.  "  I 
want  you  and  father  and  grandma'm,  and  all  of  us,  and 
the  stranger  too,  to  start  right  away,  and  go  and  take  a 
drink  out  of  the  basin  of  the  Flume  !  " 

Nobody  could  help  laughing  at  the  child's  notion  of 
leaving  a  warm  bed,  and  dragging  them  from  a  cheerful 
fire,  to  visit  the  basin  of  the  Flume,  —  a  brook  which 
tumbles  over  the  precipice,  deep  within  the  Notch.  The 
boy  had  hardly  spoken,  when  a  wagon  rattled  along  the 
road,  and  stopped  a  moment  before  the  door.  It  ap- 
peared to  contain  two  or  three  men,  who  were  cheering 
their  hearts  with  the  rough  chorus  of  a  song,  which  re- 
sounded, in  broken  notes,  between  the  cliffs,  while  the 
singers  hesitated  whether  to  continue  their  journey,  or 
put  up  here  for  the  night. 

"Father,",  said  the  girl,  "they  are  calling  you  by 
name." 

But  the  good  man  doubted  whether  they  had  really 
called  him,  and  was  unwilling  to  show  himself  too  solici- 
tous of  gain,  by  inviting  people  to  patronize  his  house. 
H&  therefore  did  not  hurry  to  the  door ;  and  the  lash 
being  soon  applied,  the  travellers  plunged  into  the 
Notch,  still  singing  and  laughing,  though  their  music 
and  mirth  came  back  drearily  from  the  heart  of  the 
mountain. 

"There,  mother!"  cried  the  boy,  again.  "They'd 
have  given  us  a  ride  to  the  Flume." 


THE    AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  105 

Again  they  laughed  at  the  child's  pertinacious  fancy 
for  a  night  ramble.  But  it  happened,  that  a  light  cloud 
passed  over  the  daughter's  spirit;  she  looked  gravely 
into  the  fire,  and  drew  a  breath  that  was  almost  a  sigh. 
It  forced  its  way,  in  spite  of  a  little  struggle  to  repress  it. 
Then  starting  and  blushing,  she  looked  quickly  round  the 
circle,  as  if  they  had  caught  a  glimpse  into  her  bosom. 
The  stranger  asked  what  she  had  been  thinking  of. 

"Nothing,"  answered  she,  with  a  downcast  smile. 
"  Only  I  felt  lonesome  just  then." 

"  0, 1  have  always  had  a  gift  of  feeling  what  is  in  other 
people's  hearts  !  "  said  he,  half  seriously.  "  Shall  I  tell 
the  secrets  of  yours  ?  For  I  know  what  to  think,  when 
a  young  girl  shivers  by  a  warm  hearth,  and  complains  of 
lonesomeness  at  her  mother's  side.  Shall  I  put  these 
feelings  into  words  ?  " 

"They  would  not  be  a  girl's  feelings  any  longer,  if 
they  could  be  put  into  words,"  replied  the  mountain 
nymph,  laughing,  but. avoiding  his  eye. 

All  this  was  said  apart.  Perhaps  a  germ  of  love  was 
springing  in  tkeir  hearts,  so  pure  that  it  might  blossom 
in  Paradise,  since  it  could  not  be  matured  on  earth  ;  for 
.women  worship  such  gentle  dignity  as  his ;  and  the 
proud,  contemplative,  yet  kindly  soul  is  oftenest  capti- 
vated by  simplicity  like  hers.  But,  while  they  spoke 
softly,  and  he  was  watching  the  happy  sadness,  the  light- 
some shadows,  the  shy  yearnings  of  a  maiden's  nature, 
the  wind,  through  the  Notch,  took  a  deeper  and  drearier 
sound.  It  seemed,  as  the  fanciful  stranger  said,  like  the 
choral  strain  of  the  spirits  of  the  blast,  who,  in  old  In- 
dian times,  had  their  dwelling  among  these  mountains, 
and  made  their  heights  and  recesses  a  sacred  region. 
There  was  a  wail,  along  the  road,  as  if  a  funeral  were 
passing.  To  chase  away  the  gloom,  the  family  threw 
5* 


106        -  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pine  branches  on  their  fire,  till  the  dry  leaves  crackled 
and  the  flame  arose,  discovering  once  again  a  scene  of 
peace  and  humble  happiness.  The  light  hovered  about 
them  fondly,  and  caressed  them  all.  There  were  the  lit- 
tle faces  of  the  children,  peeping  from  their  bed  apart, 
and  here  the  father's  frame  of  strength,  the  mother's 
subdued  and  careful  mien,  the  high-browed  youth,  the 
budding  girl,  and  the  good  old  grandam,  still  knitting  in 
the  wannest  place.  The  aged  woman  looked  up  from 
her  task,  and,  with  fingers  ever  busy,  was  the  next  to 
speak. 

"  Old  folks  have  their  notions,"  said  she,  "  as  well  as 
young  ones.  You  've  been  wishing  and  planning ;  and 
letting  your  heads  run  on  one  thing  and  another,  till 
you  've  set  my  mind  a  wandering  too.  Now  what  should 
an  old  woman  wish  for,  when  she  can  go  but  a  step  or  two 
before  she  comes  to  her  grave  ?  Children,  it  will  haunt 
me  night  and  day,  till  I  tell  you." 

"What  is  it,  mother?"  cried  the  husband  and  wife, 
at  once. 

Then  the  old  woman,  with  an  air  of  mystery,  which 
drew  the  circle  closer  round  the  fire,  informed  them 
that  she  had  provided  her  graveclothes  some  years 
before,  —  a  nice  linen  shroud,  a  cap  with  a  muslin  ruff, 
and  everything  of  a  finer  sort  than  she  had  worn  since 
her  wedding-day.  But,  this  evening,  an  old  supersti- 
tion had  strangely  recurred  to  her.  It  used  to  be  said, 
in  her  younger  days,  that,  if  anything  were  amiss  with 
a  corpse,  if  only  the  ruff  were  not  smooth,  or  the  cap 
did  not  set  right,  the  corpse,  in  the  coffin  and  beneath 
the  clods,  would  strive  to  put  up  its  cold  hands  and 
arrange  it.  The  bare  thought  made  her  nervous. 

"  Don't  talk  so,  grandmother ! "  said  the  girl,  shud- 
dering. 


THE   AMBITIOUS    GUEST.  107 

"Now,"  continued  the  old  woman,  with  singular  ear- 
nestness, yet  smiling  strangely  at  her  own  folly,  "I 
want  one  of  you,  my  children,  —  when  your  mother 
is  dressed,  and  in  the  coffin, —  I  want  one  of  you  to  hold 
a  looking-glass  over  my  face.  Who  knows  but  I  may 
take  a  glimpse  at  myself,  and  see  whether  all 's  right  ?  " 

"  Old  and  young,  we  dream  of  graves  and  monuments," 
murmured  the  stranger  youth.  "  I  wonder  how  mari- 
ners feel,  when  the  ship  is  sinking,  and  they,  unknown 
and  undistinguished,  are  to  be  buried  together  in  the 
ocean,  —  that  wide  and  nameless  sepulchre  ?  " 

For  a  moment,  the  old  woman's  ghastly  conception 
so  engrossed  the  minds  of  her  hearers,  that  a  sound, 
abroad  in  the  night,  rising  like  the  roar  of  a  blast,  had 
grown  broad,  deep,  and  terrible,  before  the  fated  group 
were  conscious  of  it.  The  house,  and  all  within  it, 
trembled ;  the  foundations  of  the  earth  seemed  to  be 
shaken,  as  if  this  awful  sound  were,  the  peal  of  the  last 
trump.  Young  and  old  exchanged  one  wild  glance,  and 
remained  an  instant,  pale,  affrighted,  without  utterance, 
or  power  to  move.  Then  the  same  shriek  burst  simulta- 
neously from  all  their  lips. 

"  The  Slide  !     The  Slide  !  " 

The  simplest  words  must  intimate,  but  not  portray, 
the  unutterable  horror  of  the  catastrophe.  The  victims 
rushed  from  their  cottage,  and  sought  refuge  in  what 
they  deemed  a  safer  spot,  —  where,  in  contemplation  of 
such  an  emergency,  a  sort  of  barrier  had  been  reared. 
Alas  !  they  had  quitted  their  security,  and  fled  right  into 
the  pathway  of  destruction.  Down  came  the  whole  side 
of  the  mountain,  in  a  cataract  of  ruin.  Just  before  it 
reached  the  house,  the  stream  broke  into  two  branches, 
—  shivered  not  a  window  there,  but  overwhelmed  the 
whole  vicinity,  blocked  up  the  road,  and  annihilated 


108  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

everything  in  its  dreadful  course.  Long  ere  the  thunder 
of  that  great  Slide  had  ceased  to  roar  among  the  moun- 
tains, the  mortal  agony  had  been  endured,  and  the  vic- 
tims were  at  peace.  Their  bodies  were  never  found. 

The  next  morning,  the  light  smoke  was  seen  stealing 
from  the  cottage  chimney,  up  the  mountain-side.  Within, 
the  fire  was  yet  smouldering  on  the  hearth,  and  the  chairs 
in  a  circle  round  it,  as  if  the  inhabitants  had  but  gone  forth, 
to  view  the  devastation  of  the  Slide,  and  would  shortly 
return,  to  thank  Heaven  for  their  miraculous  escape. 
All  had  left  separate  tokens,  by  which  those  who  had 
known  the  family  were  made  to  shed  a  tear  for  each. 
Who  has  not  heard  their  name  ?  The  story  has  been 
told  far  and  wide,  and  will  forever  be  a  legend  of  these 
mountains.  Poets  have  sung  their  fate. 

There  were  circumstances  which  led  some  to  suppose 
that  a  stranger  had  been  received  into  the  cottage  on  this 
awful  night,  and  had  shared  the  catastrophe  of  all  its  in- 
mates. Others  denied  that  there  were  sufficient  grounds 
for  such  a  conjecture.  Woe,  for  the  high-souled  youth, 
with  his  dream  of  earthly  immortality !  His  name  and 
person  utterly  unknown ;  his  history,  his  way  of  life,  his 
plans,  a  mystery  never  to  be  solved ;  his  death  and  his 
existence  equally  a  doubt !  Whose  was  the  agony  of 
that  death  moment  ? 


THE  SISTER  YEARS. 

] AST  night,  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock, 
when  the  Old  Year  was  leaving  her  final  foot- 
prints on  the  borders  of  Time's  empire,  she 
found  herself  in  possession  of  a  few  spare  moments,  and 
sat  down  —  of  all  places  in  the  world  —  on  the  steps  of 
our  new  City  Hall.  The  wintry  moonlight  showed  that 
she  looked  weary  of  body,  and  sad  of  heart,  like  many 
another  wayfarer  of  earth.  Her  garments,  having  been 
exposed  to  much  foul  weather,  and  rough  usage,  were 
in  very  ill  condition;  and  as  the  hurry  of  her  journey 
had  never  before  allowed  her  to  take  an  instant's  rest, 
her  shoes  were  so  worn  as  to  be  scarcely  worth  the 
mending.  But,  after  trudging  only  a  little  distance  far- 
ther, this  poor  Old  Year  was  destined  to  enjoy  a  long, 
long  sleep.  I  forgot  to  mention,  that  when  she  seated 
herself  on  the  steps,  she  deposited  by  her  side  a  very 
capacious  bandbox,  in  which,  as  is  the  custom  among 
travellers  of  her  sex,  she  carried  a  great  deal  of  valuable 
property.  Besides  this  luggage,  there  was  a  folio  book 
under  her  arm,  very  much  Vesembling  the  annual  volume 
of  a  newspaper.  Placing  this  volume  across  her  knees, 
and  resting  her  elbows  upon  it,  with  her  forehead  in  her 
hands,  the  weary,  bedraggled,  world-worn  Old  Year 
heaved  a  heavy  sigh,  and  appeared  to  be  taking  no  very 
pleasant  retrospect  of  her  past  existence. 


110  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

While  she  thus  awaited  the  midnight  knell,  that  was 
to  summon  her  to  the  innumerable  sisterhood  of  departed 
Years,  there  came  a  young  maiden  treading  lightsomely 
011  tiptoe  along  the  street,  from  the  direction  of  the  Rail- 
road Depot.  She  was  evidently  a  stranger,  and  perhaps 
had  come  to  town  by  the  evening  train  of  cars.  There 
was  a  smiling  cheerfulness  in  this  fair  maiden's  face, 
which  bespoke  her  fully  confident  of  a  kind  reception 
from  the  multitude  of  people,  with  whom  she  was  soon 
to  form  acquaintance.  Her  dress  was  rather  too  airy 
for  the  season,  and  was  bedizened  with  fluttering  ribbons 
and  other  vanities,  which  were  likely  soon  to  be  rent 
away  by  the  fierce  storms,  or  to  fade  in  the  hot  sunshine, 
amid  which  she  was  to  pursue  her  changeful  course. 
But  still  she  was  a  wonderfully  pleasant  looking  figure, 
and  had  so  much  promise  and  such  an  indescribable 
hopefulness  in  her  aspect,  that  hardly  anybody  could 
meet  her  without  anticipating  some  very  desirable  thing 
—  the  consummation  of  some  long-sought  good  —  from 
her  kind  offices.  A  few  dismal  characters  there  may  be, 
here  and  there  about  the  world,  who  have  so  often  been 
trifled  with  by  young  maidens  as  promising  as  she, 
that  they  have  now  ceased  to  pin  any  faith  upon  the 
skirts  of  the  New  Year.  But,  for  my  own  part,  I  have 
great  faith  in  her;  and  should  I  live  to  see  fifty  more 
such,  still,  from  each  of  those  successive  sisters,  I  shall 
reckon  upon  receiving  something  that  will  be  worth  living 
for. 

The  New  Year  —  for  this  young  maiden  was  no  less 
a  personage  —  carried  all  her  goods  and  chattels  in  a 
basket  of  no  great  size  or  weight,  which  hung  upon  her 
arm.  She  greeted  the  disconsolate  Old  Year  with  great 
affection,  and  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  steps  of  the 
City  Hall,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  begin  her  rambles 


THE    SISTER   YEARS.  Ill 

through  the  world.  The  two  were  own  sisters,  being 
both  granddaughters  of  Time;  and  though  one  looked 
so  much  older  than  the  other,  it  was  rather  owing  to 
hardships  and  trouble  than  to  age,  since  there  was  but 
a  twelvemonth's  difference  between  them. 

"  Well,  my  dear  sister,"  said  the  New  Year,  after  the 
first  salutations,  "you  look  almost  tired  to  death.  What 
have  you  been  about  during  your  sojourn  in  this  part  of 
Infinite  Space  ?  " 

"O,  I  have  it  all  recorded  here  in  my  Book  of 
Chronicles,"  answered  the  Old  Year,  in  a  heavy  tone. 
"  There  is  nothing  that  would  amuse  you ;  and  you  will 
soon  get  sufficient  knowledge  of  such  matters  from 
your  own  personal,  experience.  It  is  but  tiresome 
reading." 

Nevertheless,  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  folio, 
and  glanced  at  them  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  feeling 
an  irresistible  spell  of  interest  in  her  own  biography, 
although  its  incidents  were  remembered  without  pleas- 
ure. The  volume,  though  she  termed  it  her  Book  of 
Chronicles,  seemed  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
Salem  Gazette  for  1838 ;  in  the  accuracy  of  which  jour-  , 
nal  this  sagacious  Old  Year  had  so  much  confidence,  that 
she  deemed  it  needless  to  record  her  history  with  her 
own  pen. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  in  the  political  way  ? " 
asked  the  New  Year. 

"  Why,  my  course  here  in  the  United  States,"  said 
the  Old  Year,  — "  though  perhaps  I  ought  to  blush  at 
the  confession,  —  my  political  course,  I  must  acknowl- 
edge, lias  been  rather  vacillatory,  sometimes  inclining' 
towards  the  Whigs,  —  then  causing  the  Administration 
party  to  .shout  for  triumph,  —  and  now  again  uplifting 
what  seemed  the  almost  prostrate  banner  of  the  Oppo- 


112  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

sition ;  so  that  historians  will  hardly  know  what  to  make 
of  me,  in  this  respect.  But  the  Loco  Focos  — 

"  I  do  not  like  these  party  nicknames,"  interrupted 
her  sister,  who  seemed  remarkably  touchy  about  some 
points.  "Perhaps  we  shall  part  in  better  humor,  if  we 
avoid  any  political  discussion." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  replied  the  Old  Year,  who  had 
already  been  tormented  half  to  death  with  squabbles  of 
this  kind.  "  I  care  not  if  the  names  of  Whig  or  Tory, 
with  their  interminable  brawls  about  Banks  and  the  Sub- 
Treasury,  Abolition,  Texas,  the  Florida  War,  and  a  mil- 
lion of  other  topics,  —  which  you  will  learn  soon  enough 
for  your  own  comfort,  —  I  care  not,  I  say,  if  no  whisper 
of  these  matters  ever  reaches  my  ears  again.  Yet  they 
have  occupied  so  large  a  share  of  my  attention,  that  I 
scarcely  know  what  else  to  tell  you.  There  has  indeed 
been  a  curious  sort  of  war  on  the  Canada  border,  where 
blood  has  streamed  in  the  names  of  Liberty  and  Patriot- 
ism ;  but  it  must  remain  for  some  future,  perhaps  far 
distant  Year,  to  tell  whether  or  no  those  holy  names  have 
been  rightfully  invoked.  Nothing  so  much  depresses 
me,  in  my  view  of  mortal  affairs,  as  to  see  high  energies 
wasted,  and  human  life  and  happiness  thrown  away,  for 
ends  that  appear  oftentimes  unwise,  and  still  oftener 
remain  unaccomplished.  But  the  wisest  people  and  the 
best  keep  a  steadfast  faith  that  the  progress  of  Mankind 
is  onward  and  upward,  and  that  the  toil  and  anguish  of 
the  path  serve  to  wear  away  the  imperfections  of  the  Im- 
mortal Pilgrim,  and  will  be  felt  no  more,  when  they  have 
done  their  office." 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  the  hopeful  New  Year,  —  "  perhaps 
I  shall  see  that  happy  day  !  " 

"  I  doubt  whether  it  be  so  close  at  hand,"  answered 
the  Old  Year,  gravely  smiling.  "  You  will  soon  grow 


THE    SISTER   YEARS.  113 

weary  of  looking  for  that  blessed  consummation,  and 
will  turn  for  amusement  (as  lias  frequently  been  my 
own  practice)  to  the  affairs  of  some  sober  little  city, 
like  this  of  Salem.  Here  we  sit  on  the  steps  of  the 
new  City  Hall,  which  has  been  completed  under  my 
administration  ;  and  it  would  make  you  laugh  to  see 
how  the  game  of  politics,  of  which  the  Capitol  at 
Washington  is  the  great  chess-board,  is  here  played 
in  miniature.  Burning  Ambition  finds  its  fuel  here ; 
here  Patriotism  speaks  boldly  in  the  people's  behalf, 
and  virtuous  Economy  demands  retrenchment  in  the 
emoluments  of  a  lamplighter  ;  here  the  Aldermen  range 
their  senatorial  dignity  around  the  Mayor's  chair  of  state, 
and  the  Common  Council  feel  that  they  have  liberty  in 
charge.  In  short,  human  weakness  and  strength,  pas- 
sion and  policy,  Man's  tendencies,  his  aims  and  modes 
of  pursuing  them,  his  individual  character,  and  his 
character  in  the  mass,  may  be  studied  almost  as  well 
here  as  on  the  theatre  of  nations ;  and  with  this  great 
advantage,  that,  be  the  lesson  ever  so  disastrous,  its 
Liliputian  scope  still  makes  the  beholder  smile." 

"  Have  you  done  much  for  the  improvement  of  the 
'City  ?  "  asked  the  New  Year.  "  Judging  from  what 
little  I  have  seen,  it  appears  to  be  ancient  and  time- 
worn." 

"  I  have  opened  the  Railroad,"  said  the  elder  Year, 
"  and  half  a  dozen  times  a  day,  you  will  hear  the  bell 
(which  once  summoned  the  Monks  of  a  Spanish  Con- 
vent to  their  devotions)  announcing  the  arrival  or  de- 
parture of  the  cars.  Old  Salem  now  wears  a  much 
livelier  expression  than  when  I  first  beheld  her.  Stran- 
gers rumble  down  from  Boston  by  hundreds  at  a  time. 
New  faces  throng  in  Essex  Street.  Railroad-hacks  and 
omnibuses  rattle  over  the  pavements.  There  is  a  per- 


114  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ceptible  increase  of  oyster-shops,  and  other  establish- 
ments for  the  accommodation  of  a  transitory  diurnal 
multitude.  But  a  more  important  change  awaits  the 
venerable  town.  An  immense  accumulation  of  musty 
prejudices  will 'be  carried  off  by  the  free  circulation  of 
society.  A  peculiarity  of  character,  of  which  the  in- 
habitants themselves  are  hardly  sensible,  will  be  rubbed 
down  and  worn  away  by  the  attrition  of  foreign  sub- 
stances. Much  of  the  result  will  be  good;  there  will 
likewise  be  a  few  things  not  so  good.  Whether  for 
better  or  worse,  there  will  be  a  probable  diminution  of 
the  moral  influence  of  wealth,  and  the  sway  of  an  aris- 
tocratic class,  which,  from  an  era  far  beyond  my  mem- 
ory, has  held  firmer  dominion  here  than  in  any  other 
New  England  town." 

The  Old  Year  having  talked  away  nearly  all  of  her 
little  remaining  breath,  now  closed  her  Book  of  Chroni- 
,cles,  and  was  about  to  take  her  departure.  But  her 
sister  detained  her  awhile  longer,  by  inquiring  the  con- 
tents of  the  huge  bandbox,  which  she  was  so  painfully 
lugging  along  with  her. 

"  These  are  merely  a  few  trifles,"  replied  the  Old 
Year,  "which  I  have  picked  up  in  my  rambles,  and 
am  going  to  deposit,  in  the  receptacle  of  things  past 
and  forgotten.  We  sisterhood  of  Years  never  carry  any- 
thing really  valuable  out  of  the  world  with  us.  Here 
are  patterns  of  most  of  the  fashions  which  I  brought 
into  vogue,  and  which  have  already  lived  out  their 
allotted  term.  You  will  supply  their  place,  with  others 
equally  ephemeral.  Here,  put  up  in  little  China  pots, 
like  rouge,  is  a  considerable  lot  of  beautiful  women's 
bloom,  which  the  disconsolate  fair  ones  owe  me  a  bitter 
grudge  for  stealing.  I  have  likewise  a  quantity  of  men's 
dark  hair,  instead  of  which,  I  have  left  gray  locks,  or 


THE    SISTER    YEA11S.  115 

none  at  all.  The  tears  of  widows  and  other  afflicted 
mortals,  who  have  received  comfort  during  the  last 
twelve  months,  are  preserved  in  some  dozens  of  essence- 
bottles,  well  corked  and  sealed.  I  have  several  bundles  of 
love-letters,  eloquently  breathing  an  eternity  of  burning 
passion,  which  grew  cold  and  perished,  almost  before 
the  ink  was  dry.  Moreover,  here  is  an  assortment  of 
many  thousand  broken  promises,  and  other  broken  ware, 
all  very  light  and  packed  into  little  space.  The  heaviest 
articles  in  my  possession  are  a  large  parcel  of  disap- 
pointed hopes,  which,  a  little  while  ago,  were  buoyant 
enough  to  have  inflated  Mr.  Lauriat's  balloon." 

"I  have  a  fine  lot  of  hopes  here  in  my  basket," 
remarked  the  New  Year.  "  They  are  a  sweet-smelling 
flower,  —  a  species  of  rose." 

"  They  soon  lose  their  perfume,''  replied  the  sombre 
Old  Year.  "  What  else  have  you  brought  to  insure  a 
welcome  from  the  discontented  race  of  mortals  ? " 

"  Why,  to  say  the  truth,  little  or  nothing  else,"  said 
her  sister,  with  a  smile,  — "  save  a  few  new  Annuals 
and  Almanacs,  and  some  New  Year's  gifts  for  the 
children.  But  I  heartily  wish  well  to  poor  mortals, 
and  mean  to  do  all  I  can  for  their  improvement  and 
happiness." 

"It  is  a  good  resolution,"  rejoined  the  Old  Year; 
"  and,  by  the  way,  I  ha've  a  plentiful  assortment  of  good 
resolutions,  which  have  now  grown  so  stale  and  musty, 
that  I  am  ashamed  to  carry  them  any  farther.  Only  for 
fear  that  the  City  authorities  would  send  Constable 
Mansfield,  with  a  warrant  after  me,  I  should  toss  them 
into  the  street  at  once.  Many  other  matters  go  to  make 
up  the  contents  of  my  bandbox  ;  but  the  whole  lot  would 
not  fetch  a  single  bid,  even  at  an  auction  of  worn-out 
furniture  ;  and  as  they  are  worth  nothing  either  to  you 


116  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

or  anybody  else,  I  need  not  trouble  you  with  a  longer 
catalogue." 

"  And  must  I  also  pick  up  such  worthless  luggage  in 
my  travels  ?  "  asked  the  New  Year. 

"  Most  certainly ;  and  well,  if  you  have  no  heavier 
load  to  bear,"  replied  the  other.  "  And  now,  my  dear 
sister,  I  must  bid  you  farewell,  earnestly  advising  and 
exhorting  you  to  expect  no  gratitude  nor  good-will  from 
this  peevish,  unreasonable,  inconsiderate,  ill-intending,  and 
worse-behaving  world.  However  warmly  its  inhabitants 
may  seem  to  welcome  you,  yet,  do  what  you  may,  and 
lavish  on  them  what  means  of  happiness  you  please,  they 
will  still  be  complaining,  still  craving  what  it  is  not  in 
your  power  to  give,  still  looking  forward  to  some  other 
Year  for  the  accomplishment  of  projects  which  ought 
never  to  have  been  formed,  and  which,  if  successful, 
would  only  provide  new  occasions  of  discontent.  If 
these  ridiculous  people  ever  see  anything  tolerable  in. 
you,  it  will  be  after  you  are  gone  forever." 

"  But  I,"  cried  the  fresh-hearted  New  Year,  —  "  I  shall 
try  to  leave  men  wiser  than  I  find  them.  I  will  offer  them 
freely  whatever  good  gifts  Providence  permits  me  to  dis- 
tribute, and  will  tell  them  to  be  thankful  for  what  they 
have,  and  humbly  hopeful  for  more ;  and  surely,  if  they 
are  not  absolute  fools,  they  will  condescend  to  be  happy, 
and  will  allow  me  to  be  a  happy  Year.  For  my  happiness 
must  depend  on  them." 

"  Alas  for  you,  then,  my  poor  sister ! "  said  the  Old 
Year,  sighing,  as  she  uplifted  her  burden.  "  We  grand- 
children of  Time  are  born  to  trouble.  Happiness,  they 
say,  dwells  in  the  mansions  of  Eternity ;  but  we  can  only 
lead  mortals  thither,  step  by  step,  with  reluctant  mur- 
murings,  and  ourselves  must  perish  on  the  threshold. 
But  hark!  my  task  is  done." 


THE    SISTER    YEARS.  117 

The  clock  in  the  tall  steeple  of  Dr.  Emerson's  church 
struck  twelve ;  there  was  a  response  from  Dr.  Mint's,  in 
the  opposite  quarter  of  the  city ;  and  while  the  strokes 
were  yet  dropping  into  the  air,  the  Old  Year  either  flitted 
or  faded  away ;  and  not  the  wisdom  and  might  of  Angels, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  remorseful  yearnings  of  the  millions 
•who  had  used  her  ill,  could  have  prevailed  with  that 
departed  Year  to  return  one  step.  But  she,  in  the  com- 
pany of  Time  and  all  her  kindred,  must  hereafter  hold  a  ' 
reckoning  with  Mankind.  So  shall  it  be,  likewise,  with 
the  maidenly  New  Year,  who,  as  the  clock  ceased  to 
strike,  arose  from  the  steps  of  the  City  Hall,  and  set  out 
rather  timorously  on  her  earthly  course. 

"  A  happy  New  Year !  "  cried  a  watchman,  eying  her 
figure  very  questionably,  but  without  the  least  suspicion 
that  he  was  addressing  the  New  Year  in  person. 

"  Thank  you  kindly ! "  said  the  New  Year ;  and  she 
gave  the  watchman  one  of  the  roses  of  hope  from  her 
basket.  "  May  this  flower  keep  a  sweet  smell,  long  after 
I  have  bidden  you  good  by." 

Then  she  stepped  on  more  briskly  through  the  silent 
streets ;  and  such  as  were  awake  at  the  moment,  heard 
her  footfall,  and  said,  "  The  New  Year  is  come ! " 
Wherever  there  was  a  knot  of  midnight  roisterers,  they 
quaffed  her  health.  She  sighed,  however,  to  perceive 
that  the  air  was  tainted  —  as  the  atmosphere  of  this 
world  must  continually  be  —  with  the  dying  breaths  of 
mortals  who  had  lingered  just  long  enough  for  her  to 
bury  them.  But  there  were  millions  left  alive,  to  rejoice 
at  her  coming ;  and  so  she  pursued  her  way  with  con- 
fidence, strewing  emblematic  flowers  on  the  doorstep  of 
almost  every  dwelling,  which  some  persons  will  gather 
up  and  wear  in  their  bosoms,  and  others  will  trample 
under  foot.  The  Carrier  Boy  can  only  say  further,  that, 


118 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


early  this  morning,  she  filled  his  basket  with  New  Year's 
Addresses,  assuring  him  that  the  whole  City,  with  our 
new  Mayor,  and  the  Aldermen  and  Common  Council  at 
its  head,  woiild  make  a  general  rush  to  secure  copies. 
Kind  Patrons,  will  not  you  redeem  the  pledge  of  the 
NEW  YEAR? 


SNOW-FLAKES. 

JHERE  is  snow  in  yonder  cold  gray  sky  of  the 
morning !  —  and,  through  the  partially  frosted 
window-panes,  I  love  to  watch  the  gradual 
beginning  of  the  storm.  A  few  feathery  flakes  are  scat- 
tered widely  through  the  air,  and  hover  downward  with 
uncertain  flight,  now  almost  alighting  on  the  earth,  now 
whirled  again  aloft  into  remote  regions  of  the  atmosphere. 
These  are  not  the  big  flakes,  heavy  with  moisture,  which 
melt  as  they  touch  the  ground,  and  are  portentous  of  a 
soaking  rain.  It  is  to  be,  in  good  earnest,  a  wintry 
storm.  The  two  or  three  people,  visible  on  the  side- 
walks, have  an  aspect  of  endurance,  a  blue-nosed,  frosty 
fortitude,  which  is  evidently  assumed  in  anticipation  of  a 
comfortless  and  blustering  day.  By  nightfall,  or  at  least 
before  the  sun  sheds  another  glimmering  smile  upon  us, 
the  street  and  our  little  garden  will  be  heaped  with 
mountain  snow-drifts.  The  soil,  already  frozen  for  weeks 
past,  is  prepared  to  sustain  whatever  burden  may  be  laid 
upon  it ;  and,  to  a  northern  eye,  the  landscape  will  lose 
its  melancholy  bleakness  and  acquire  a  beauty  of  its  own, 
when  Mother  Earth,  like  her  children,  shall  have  put  on 
the  fleecy  garb  of  her  winter's  wear.  The  cloud-spirits 
are  slowly  weaving  her  white  mantle.  As  yet,  indeed, 
there  is  barely  a  rime  like  hoarfrost  ovor  the  brown 


120  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

surface  of  the  street ;  the  withered  green  of  the  grass-plat 
is  still  discernible ;  and  the  slated  roofs  of  the  houses  do 
but  begin  to  look  gray,  instead  of  black.  All  the  snow 
that  has  yet  fallen  within  the  circumference  of  my  view, 
were  it  heaped  up  together,  would  hardly  equal  the  hil- 
lock of  a  grave.  Thus  gradually,  by  silent  and  stealthy 
influences,  are  great  changes  wrought.  These  little  snow- 
particles,  which  the  storm-spirit  flings  by  handfuls  through 
the  air,  will  bury  the  great  earth  under  their  accumulated 
mass,  nor  permit  her  to  behold  her  sister  sky  again  for 
dreary  months.  We,  likewise,  shall  lose  sight  of  our 
mother's  familiar  visage,  and  must  content  ourselves  with 
looking  heavenward  the  oftener. 

Now,  leaving  the  storm  to  do  his  appointed  office,  let 
us  sit  down,  pen  in  hand,  by  our  fireside.  Gloomy  as  it 
may  seem,  there  is  an  influence  productive  of  cheerful- 
ness, and  favorable  to  imaginative  thought,  in  the  'atmos- 
phere of  a  snowy  day.  The  native  of  a  southern  clime 
may  woo  the  muse  beneath  the  heavy  shade  of  summer 
foliage,  reclining  on  banks  of  turf,  while  the  sound  of 
singing  birds  and  warbling  rivulets  chimes  in  with  the 
music  of  his  soul.  In  our  brief  summer,  I  do  not  think, 
but  only  exist  in  the  vague  enjoyment  of  a  dream.  My 
hour  of  inspiration  —  if  that  hour  ever  comes  —  is  when 
the  green  log  hisses  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  bright 
flame,  brighter  for  the  gloom  of  the  chamber,  rustles 
high  up  the  chimney,  and  the  coals  drop  tinkling  down 
among  the  growing  heaps  of  ashes.  When  the  casement 
rattles  in  the  gust,  and  the  snow-flakes  or  the  sleety  rain- 
drops pelt  hard  against  the  window-panes,  then  I  spread 
out  my  sheet  of  paper,  with  the  certainty  that  thoughts 
and  fancies  will  gleam  forth  upon  it,  like  stars  at  twilight, 
or  like  violets  in  May,  —  perhaps  to  fade  as  soon.  How- 
ever transitory  their  glow,  they  at  least  shine  amid  the 


SNOW-FLAKES.  121 

darksome  shadow  which  the  clouds  of  the  outward  sky 
fling  through  the  room.  Blessed,  therefore,  and  rever- 
ent lv  welcomed  by  me,  her  true-born  son,  be  New 
England's  winter,  which  makes  us,  one  and  all,  the 
nurslings  of  the  storm,  and  sings  a  familiar  lullaby  even 
in  the  wildest  shriek  of  the  December  blast.  Now  look 
we  forth  again,  and  see  how  much  of  his  task  the  storm- 
spirit  has  done. 

Slow  and  sure !  He  has  the  day,  perchance  the  week, 
before  him,  and  may  take  his  own  time  to  accomplish 
Nature's  burial  in  snow.  A  smooth  mantle  is  scarcely 
yet  thrown  over  the  withered  grass-plat,  and  the  dry 
stalks  of  annuals  still  thrust  themselves  through  the 
white  surface  in  all  parts  of  the  garden.  The  leafless 
rose-bushes  stand  shivering  in  a  shallow  snow-drift,  look- 
ing, poor  things !  as  disconsolate  as  if  they  possessed  a 
human  consciousness  of  the  dreary  scene.  This  is  a  sad 
time  for  the  shrubs  that  do  not  perish  with  the  summer ; 
they  neither  live  nor  die ;  what  they  retain  of  life  seems 
but  the  chilling  sense  of  death.  Very  sad  are  the  flower 
shrubs  in  midwinter !  The  roofs  of  the  houses  are  now 
all  white,  save  where  the  eddying  wind  has  kept  them 
bare  at  the  bleak  corners.  To  discern  the  real  intensity 
of  the  storm,  we  must  fix  upon  some  distant  object,  —  as 
yonder  spire,  —  and  observe  how  the  riotous  gust  fights 
with  the  descending  snow  throughout  the  intervening 
space.  Sometimes  the  entire  prospect  is  obscured; 
then,  again,  we  have  a  distinct,  but  transient  glimpse  of 
the  tall  steeple,  like  a  giant's  ghost ;  and  now  the  dense 
wreaths  sweep  between,  as  if  demons  were  flinging  snow- 
drifts at  each  other,  in  mid-air.  Look  next  into  the  street, 
where  we  have  seen  an  amusing  parallel  to  the  combat  of 
those  fancied  demons  in  the  upper  regions.  It  is  a  snow- 
battle  of  sckool-boys.  What  a  pretty  satire  on  war  and 


122  TWICb-TOLD   TALES. 

military  glory  might  be  written,  in  the  form  of  a  child's 
story,  by  describing  the  snowball-fights  of  two  rival 
schools,  the  alternate  defeats  and  victories  of  each,  and  the 
final  triumph  of  one  party,  or  perhaps  of  neither !  What 
pitched  battles,  worthy  to  be  chanted  in  Homeric  strains ! 
What  storming  of  fortresses,  built  all  of  massive  snow- 
blocks  !  What  feats  of  individual  prowess,  and  embod- 
ied onsets  of  martial  enthusiasm  !  And  when  some  well- 
contested  and  decisive  victory  had  put  a  period  to  the 
war,  both  armies  should  unite  to  build  a  lofty  monument 
of  snow  upon  the  battle-field,  and  crown  it  with  the  vic- 
tor's statue,  hewn  of  the  same  frozen  marble.  In  a  few 
days  or  weeks  thereafter,  the  passer-by  would  observe  a 
shapeless  mouud  upon  the  level  common ;  and,  unmind- 
ful of  the  famous  victory,  would  ask,  "How  came  it 
there  ?  Who  reared  it  ?  And  what  means  it  ? "  The 
shattered  pedestal  of  many  a  battle  monument  has  pro- 
voked these  questions,  when  none  could  answer. 

Turn  we  again  to  the  fireside,  and  sit  musing  there, 
lending  our  ears  to  the  wind,  till  perhaps  it  shall  seem 
like  an  articulate  voice,  and  dictate  wild  and  airy  matter 
for  the  pen.  Would  it  might  inspire  me  to  sketch  out 
the  personification  of  a  New  England  winter  !  And  that 
idea,  if  I  can  seize  the  snow-wreathed  figures  that  flit 
before  my  fancy,  shall  be  the  theme  of  the  next  page. 

How  does  Winter  herald  his  approach  ?  By  the  shriek- 
ing blast  of  latter  autumn,  which  is  Nature's  cry  of  lamen- 
tation, as  the  destroyer  rushes  among  the  shivering  groves 
where  she  has  lingered,  and  scatters  the  sear  leaves  upon 
the  tempest.  When  that  ciy  is  heard,  the  people  wrap 
themselves  in  cloaks,  and  shake  their  heads  disconsolately, 
saying,  "  Winter  is  at  hand !  "  Then  the  axe  of  the 
woodcutter  echoes  sharp  and  diligently  in  the  forest; 
then  the  coal-merchants  rejoice,  because  each  shriek  of 


SNOW-FLAKES.  123 

Nature  in  her  agony  adds  something  to  the  price  of  coal 
per  ton;  then  the  peat-smoke  spreads  its  aromatic  fra- 
grance through  the  atmosphere.  A  few  days  more  ;  and 
at  eventide,  the  children  look  out  of  the  window,  and 
dimly  perceive  the  flaunting  of  a  snowy  mantle  in  the  air. 
It  is  stern  Winter's  vesture.  They  crowd  around  the 
hearth,  and  cling  to  their  mother's  gown,  or  press  be- 
tween their  father's  knees,  affrighted  by  the  hollow  roar- 
ing voice,  that  bellows  adown  the  wide  flue  of  the  chimney. 
It  is  the  voice  of  Winter ;  and  when  parents  and  children 
hear  it,  they  shudder  and  exclaim,  "Winter  is  come! 
Cold  Winter  has  begun  his  reign  already ! "  Now, 
throughout  New  England,  each  hearth  becomes  an  altar, 
sending  up  the  smoke  of  a  continued  sacrifice  to  the  im- 
mitigable deity  who  tyrannizes  over  forest,  country  side, 
and  town.  Wrapped  in  his  white  mantle,  his  staff  a  huge 
icicle,  his  beard  and  hair  a  wind-tossed  snow-drift,  he 
travels  over  the  land,  in  the  midst  of  the  northern  blast ; 
and  woe  to  the  homeless  wanderer  whom  he  finds  upon 
his  path  !  There  he  lies  stark  and  stiff,  a  human  shape 
of  ice,  on  the  spot  where  Winter  overtook  him.  On 
strides  the  tyrant  over  the  rushing  rivers  and  broad  lakes, 
which  turn  to  rock  beneath  his  footsteps.  His  dreary  em- 
pire is  established ;  all  around  stretches  the  desolation  of 
the  Pole.  Yet  not  ungrateful  be  his  New  England  chil- 
dren, —  for  Winter  is  our  sire,  though  a  stern  and  rough 
one,  —  not  ungrateful  even  for  the  severities,  which  have 
nourished  our  unyielding  strength  of  character.  And  lot 
us  thank  him,  too,  for  the  sleigh-rides,  cheered  by  the 
music  of  merry  bells;  for  the  crackling  and  rustling 
hearth,  when  the  ruddy  firelight  gleams  on  hardy  Man- 
hood and  the  blooming  cheek  of  Woman ;  for  all  the 
home  enjoyments,  and  the  kindred  virtues,  which  flourish 
in  a  frozen  soil.  Not  that  we  grieve,  when,  after  some 


124  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

seven  months  of  storm  and  bitter  frost,  Spring,  in  the 
guise  of  a  flower-crowned  virgin,  is  seen  driving  away 
the  hoary  despot,  pelting  him  with  violets  by  the  hand- 
ful, and  strewing  green  grass  on  the  path  behind  him. 
Often,  ere  he  will  give  up  his  empire,  old  Winter  rushes 
fiercely  back,  and  hurls  a  snow-drift  at  the  shrinking  form 
of  Spring ;  yet,  step  by  step,  he  is  compelled  to  retreat 
northward,  and  spends  the  summer  months  within  the 
Arctic  circle. 

Such  fantasies,  intermixed  among  graver  toils  of  mind, 
have  made  the  winter's  day  pass  pleasantly.  Meanwhile, 
the  storm  has  raged  without  abatement,  and  now,  as  the 
brief  afternoon  declines,  is  tossing  denser  volumes  to  and 
fro  about  the  atmosphere.  On  the  window-sill,  there  is  a 
layer  of  snow,  reaching  half-way  up  the  lowest  pane  of 
glass.  The  garden  is  one  unbroken  bed.  Along  the 
street  are  two  or  three  spots  of  uncovered  earth,  where 
the  gust  has  whirled  away  the  snow,  heaping  it  else- 
where to  the  fence-tops,  or  piling  huge  banks  against  the 
doors  of  houses.  A  solitary  passenger  is  seen,  now  strid- 
ing mid-leg  deep  across  a  drift,  now  scudding  over  the  bare 
ground,  while  his  cloak  is  swollen  with  the  wind.  And 
now  the  jingling  of  bells,  a  sluggish  sound,  responsive 
to  the  horse's  toilsome  progress  through  the  unbroken 
drifts,  announces  the  passage  of  a  sleigh,  with  a  boy 
clinging  behind,  and  ducking  his  head  to  escape  detec- 
tion by  the  driver.  Next  comes  a  sledge,  laden  with 
wood  for  some  unthrifty  housekeeper,  whom  winter  has 
surprised  at  a  cold  hearth.  But  what  dismal  equipage 
now  struggles  along  the  uneven  street  ?  A  sable  hearse, 
bestrewn  with  snow,  is  bearing  a  dead  man  through  the 
storm  to  his  frozen  bed.  O,  how  dreary  is  a  burial  in 
winter,  when  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth  has  no  warmth 
for  her  poor  child ! 


SNOW-FLAKES.  125 

Evening  —  the  early  eve  of  December  —  begins  to 
spread  its  deepening  veil  over  the  comfortless  scene  ;  the 
firelight  gradually  brightens,  and  throws  my  flickering 
shadow  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  chamber  ;  but 
still  the  storm  rages  and  rattles  against  the  windows. 
Alas!  I  shiver,  and  think  it  time  to  be  disconsolate. 
But,  taking  a  farewell  glance  at  dead  Nature  in  her 
shroud,  I  perceive  a  flock  of  snow-birds,  skimming  light- 
somely  through  the  tempest,  and  flitting  from  drift  to 
drift,  as  sportively  as  swallows  in  the  delightful  prime  of 
summer.  Whence  come  they  ?  Where  do  they  build 
their  nests,  and  seek  their  food?  Why,  having  airy 
wings,  do  they  not  follow  summer  around  the  earth,  in- 
stead of  making  themselves  the  playmates  of  the  storm, 
and  fluttering  on  the  dreary  verge  of  the  winter's  eve  ? 
I  know  not  whence  they  come,  nor  why ;  yet  my  spirit 
has  been  cheered  by  that  wandering  flock  of  snow-birds. 


THE  SEVEN  VAGABONDS. 

[AMBLING  on  foot  in  the  spring  of  my  life  and 
the  summer  of  the  year,  I  came  one  afternoon 
to  a  point  -which  gave  me  the  choice  of  three 
directions.  Straight  before  me,  the  main  road  extended 
its  dusty  length  to  Boston ;  on  the  left  a  branch  went 
towards  the  sea,  and  would  have  lengthened  my  journey 
a  trifle  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles;  while  by  the  right- 
hand  path,  I  might  have  gone  over  hills  and  lakes  to 
Canada,  visiting  in  my  way  the  celebrated  town  of  Stam- 
ford. On  a  level  spot  of  grass,  at  the  foot  of  the  guide- 
post,  appeared  an  object,  which,  though  locomotive  on 
a  different  principle,  reminded  me  of  Gulliver's  portable 
mansion  among  the  Brobdignags.  It  was  a  huge  covered 
wagon,  or,  more  properly,  a  small  house  on  wheels,  with 
a  door  on  one  side  and  a  window  shaded  by  green  blinds 
on  the  other.  Two  horses,  munching  provender  out  of 
the  baskets  which  muzzled  them,  were  fastened  near  the 
vehicle  :  a  delectable  sound  of  music  proceeded  from  the 
.interior;  and  I  immediately  conjectured  that  this  was 
some  itinerant  show,  halting  at  the  confluence  of  the 
roads  to  intercept  such  idle  travellers  as  myself.  A 
shower  had  long  been  climbing  up  the  western  sky,  and 
now  hung  so  blackly  over  my  onward  path  that  it  was  a 
point  of  wisdom  to  seek  shelter  here. 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  127 

"  Halloo !  Who  stands  guard  here  ?  Is  the  door- 
keeper asleep  ? "  cried  I,  approaching  a  ladder  of  two 
or  three  steps  which  was  let  down  from  the  wagon. 

The  music  ceased  at  my  summons,  and  there  appeared 
at  the  door,  not  the  sort  of  figure  that  I  had  mentally 
assigned  to  the  wandering  showman,  but  a  most  respec- 
table old  personage,  whom  I  was  sorry  to  have  addressed 
in  so  free  a  style.  He  wore  a  snuff-colored  coat  and 
small-clothes,  with  white-top  boots,  and  exhibited  the 
mild  dignity  of  aspect  and  manner  which  may  often  be 
noticed  in  aged  schoolmasters,  and  sometimes  in  deacons, 
selectmen,  or  other  potentates  of  that  kind.  A  small 
piece  of  silver  was  my  passport  within  his  premises, 
where  I  found  only  one  other  person,  hereafter  to  be 
described. 

"This  is  a  dull  day  for  business,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, as  he  ushered  me  in ;  "  but  I  merely  tarry  here  to 
refresh  the  cattle,  being  bound  for  the  camp-meeting  at 
Stamford." 

Perhaps  the  movable  scene  of  this  narrative  is  still 
peregrinating  New  England,  and  may  enable  the  reader 
to  test  the  accuracy  of  my  description.  The  spectacle 
• —  for  I  will  not  use  the  unworthy  term  of  puppet-show 
—  consisted  of  a  multitude  of  little  people  assembled  on 
a  miniature  stage.  Among  them  were  artisans  of  every 
kind,  in  the  attitudes  of  their  toil,  and  a  group  of  fair 
ladies  and  gay  gentlemen  standing  ready  for  the  dance ; 
a  company  of  foot-soldiers  formed  a  line  across  the  stage, 
looking  stern,  grim,  and  terrible  enough,  to  make  it  a 
pleasant  consideration  that  they  were  but  three  inches 
high ;  and  conspicuous  above  the  whole  was  seen  a 
Merry-Andrew,  in  the  pointed  cap  and  motley  coat  of 
his  profession.  All  the  inhabitants  of  this  mimic  world 
were  motionless,  like  the  figures  in  a  picture,  or  like 


128  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

that  people  who  one  moment  were  alive  in  the  midst  of 
their  business  and  delights,  and  the  next  were  trans- 
formed to  statues,  preserving  an  eternal  semblance  of 
labor  that  was  ended,  and  pleasure  that  could  be  felt  no 
more.  Anon,  however,  the  old  gentleman  turned  the 
handle  of  a  barrel-organ,  the  first  note  of  which  produced 
a  most  enlivening  effect  upon  the  figures,  and  awoke 
them  all  to  their  proper  occupations  and  amusements. 
By  the  self-same  impulse  the  tailor  plied  his  needle,  the 
blacksmith's  hammer  descended  upon  the  anvil,  and  the 
dancers  whirled  away  on  feathery  tiptoes  ;  the  company 
of  soldiers  broke  into  platoons,  retreated  from  the  stage, 
and  were  succeeded  by  a  troop  of  horse,  who  came  pran- 
cing onward  with  such  a  sound  of  trumpets  and  trampling 
of  hoofs,  as  might  have  startled  Don  Quixote  himself; 
while  an  old  toper,  of  inveterate  ill  habits,  uplifted  his 
black  bottle  and  took  off  a  hearty  swig.  Meantime  the 
Merry-Andrew  began  to  caper  and  turn  somersets,  shak- 
ing his  sides,  nodding  his  head,  and  winking  his  eyes  in 
as  life-like  a  manner  as  if  he  were  ridiculing  the  nonsense 
of  all  human  affairs,  and  making  fun  of  the  whole  multi- 
tude beneath  him.  At  length  the  old  magician  (for  I 
compared  the  showman  to  Prospero,  entertaining  his 
guests  with  a  mask  of  shadows)  paused  that  I  might 
give  utterance  to  my  wonder. 

"  What  an  admirable  piece  of  work  is  this !  "  ex- 
claimed I,  lifting  up  my  hands  in  astonishment. 

Indeed,  I  liked  the  spectacle,  and  was  tickled  with 
the  old  man's  gravity  as  he  presided  at  it,  for  I  had 
none  of  that  foolish  wisdom  which  reproves  every  occu- 
pation that  is  not  useful  in  this  world  of  vanities.  If 
there  be  a  faculty  which  I  possess  more  perfectly  than 
most  men,  it  is  that  of  throwing  myself  mentally  into 
situations  foreign  to  my  own,  and  detecting,  with  a 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  129 

cheerful  eye,  the  desirable  circumstances  of  each.  I 
could  have  envied  the  life  of  this  gray-headed  showman, 
spent  as  it  had  been  in  a  course  of  safe  and  pleasurable 
adventure,  in  driving  his  huge  vehicle  sometimes  through 
the  sands  of  Cape  Cod,  and  sometimes  over  the  rough 
forest  roads  of  the  north  and  east,  and  halting  now  on 
the  green  before  a  village  meeting-house,  and  now  in  a 
paved  square  of  the  metropolis.  How  often  must  his 
heart  have  been  gladdened  by  the  delight  of  children, 
as  they  viewed  these  animated  figures  !  or  his  pride 
indulged,  by  haranguing  learnedly  to  grown  men  on 
the  mechanical  powers  which  produced  such  wonderful 
eflects  !  or  his  gallantry  brought  into  play  (for  this  is 
an  attribute  which  such  grave  men  do  not  lack)  by  the 
visits  of  pretty  maidens!  And  then  with  how  fresh  a 
feeling  must  he  return,  at-  intervals,  to  his  own  peculiar 
home ! 

"  I  would  I  were  assured  of  as  happy  a  life  as  his," 
thought  I. 

Though  the  showman's  wagon  might  have  accommo- 
dated fifteen  or  twenty  spectators,  it  now  contained  only 
himself  and  me,  and  a  third  person  at  whom  I  threw  a 
glance  on  entering.  He  was  a  neat  and  trim  young  man 
of  two  or  three  and  twenty ;  his  drab  hat,  and  green 
frock-coat  with  velvet  collar,  were  smart,  though  no 
longer  new ;  while  a  pair  of  green  spectacles,  that 
seemed  needless  to  his  brisk  little  eyes,  gave  him  some- 
thing of  a  scholar-like  and  literary  air.  After  allowing 
me  a  sufficient  time  to  inspect  the  puppets,  he  advanced 
with  a  bow,  and  drew  my  attention  to  some  books  in  a 
corner  of  the  wagon.  These  he  forthwith  began  to  ex- 
tol, with  an  amazing  volubility  of  well-sounding  words, 
and  an  ingenuity  of  praise  that  won  him  my  heart,  as 
being  myself  one  of  the  most  merciful  of  critics.  Indeed, 
6*  I 


130  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

his  stock  required  some  considerable  powers  of  commen- 
dation in  the  salesman ;  there  were  several  ancient  friends 
of  mine,  the  novels  of  those  happy  days  when  my  affec- 
tions wavered  between  the  Scottish  Chiefs  and  Thomas 
Thumb ;  besides  a  few  of  later  date,  whose  merits  had 
not  been  acknowledged  by  the  public.  I  was  glad  to 
find  that  dear  little  venerable  volume,  the  New  England 
Primer,  looking  as  antique  as  ever,  though  in  its  thou- 
sandth new  edition  ;  a  bundle  of  superannuated  gilt  pic- 
ture-books made  such  a  child  of  me,  that,  partly  for  the 
glittering  covers,  and  partly  for  the  fairy-tales  within,  I 
bought  the  whole ;  and  an  assortment  of  ballads  and 
popular  theatrical  songs  drew  largely  on  my  purse.  To 
balance  these  expenditures,  I  meddled  neither  with  ser- 
mons, nor  science,  nor  morality,  though  volumes  of  each 
were  there ;  nor  with  a  Life  of  Franklin  in  the  coarsest 
of  paper,  but  so  showily  bound  that  it  was  emblemati- 
cal of  the  Doctor  himself,  in  the  court  dress  which  he 
refused  to  wear  at  Paris ;  nor  with  Webster's  Spelling- 
Book,  nor  some  of  Byron's  minor  poems,  nor  half  a 
dozen  little  Testaments  at  twenty-five  cents  each. 

Thus  far  the  collection  might  have  been  swept  from 
some  great  bookstore,  or  picked  up  at  an  evening  auc- 
tion-room; but  there  was  one  small  blue-covered  pam- 
phlet, which  the  pedler  handed  me  with  so  peculiar  an 
air,  that  I  purchased  it  immediately  at  his  own  price ; 
and  then,  for  the  first  time,  the  thought  struck  me,  that 
I  had  spoken  face  to  face  with  the  veritable  author  of 
a  printed  book.  The  literary  man  now  evinced  a  great 
kindness  for  me,  and  I  ventured  to  inquire  which  way 
he  was  travelling. 

"  O,"  said  he,  "I  keep  company  with  this  old  gentle- 
man here,  and  we  are  moving  now  towards  the  camp- 
meeting  at  Stamford ! " 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  131 

He  then  explained  to  me,  that  for  the  present  season 
he  had  rented,  a  corner  of  the  wagon  as  a  bookstore, 
which,  as  he  wittily  observed,  was  a  true  Circulating 
Library,  since  there  were  few  parts  of  the  country  where 
it  had  not  gone  its  rounds.  I  approved  of  the  plan  ex 
cecdingly,  and  began  to  sum  up  within  my  mind  ths 
many  uncommon  felicities  in  the  life  of  a  book-pedler, 
especially  when  his  character  resembled  that  of  the  in- 
dividual before  me.  At  a  high  rate  was  to  be  reckoned 
the  daily  and  hourly  enjoyment  of  such  interviews  as  the 
present,  in  which  he  seized  upon  the  admiration  of  a 
passing  stranger,  and  made  him  aware  that  a  man  of 
literary  taste,  and  even  of  literary  achievement,  was 
travelling  the  country  in  a  showman's  wagon.  A  more  ] 
valuable,  yet  not  infrequent  triumph,  might  be  wou 
in  his  conversation  with  some  elderly  clergyman,  long 
vegetating  in  a  rocky,  woody,  watery  back  settlement  of 
New  England,  who,  as  he  recruited  his  library  from  the 
pedler's  stock  of  sermons,  would  exhort  him  to  seek  a 
college  education  and  become  the  first  scholar  in  his 
class.  Sweeter  and  prouder  yet  would  be  his  sensations, 
when,  talking  poetry  while  he  sold  spelling-books,  he 
should  charm  the  mind,  and  haply  touch  the  heart  of 
a  fair  country  schoolmistress,  herself  an  unhonored 
poetess,  a  wearer  of  blue  stockings  which  none  but 
himself  took  pains  to  look  at.  But  the  scene  of  his 
completest  glory,  would  be  when  the  wagon  had  halted 
for  the  night,  and  his  stock  of  books  was  transferred 
in  some  crowded  bar-room.  Then  would  he  recommend 
to  the  multifarious  company,  whether  traveller  from 
the  city,  or  teamster  from  the  hills,  or  neighboring 
squire,  or  the  landlord  himself,  or  his  loutish  hostler, 
works  suited  to  each  particular  taste  and  capacity; 
proving,  all  the  while,  by  acute  criticism  and  profound 


132  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

remark,  that  the  lore  in  his  books  was  even  exceeded  by 
that  in  his  brain. 

Thus  happily  would  he  traverse  the  land ;  sometimes  a 
herald  before  the  march  of  Mind;  sometimes  walking 
arm  in  arm  with  awful  Literature ;  and  reaping  every- 
where a  harvest  of  real  and  sensible  popularity,  which  the 
secluded  bookworms,  by  whose  toil  he  lived,  could  never 
hope  for. 

"  If  ever  I  meddle  with  literature,"  thought  I,  fixing 
myself  ha  adamantine  resolution,  "  it  shall  be  as  a  travel- 
ling bookseller."  » 

Though  it  was  still  mid-afternoon,  the  air  had  now 
grown  dark  about  us,  and  a  few  drops  of  rain  came  down 
upon  the  roof  of  our  vehicle,  pattering  like  the  feet  of 
birds  that  had  flown  thither  to  rest.  A  sound  of  pleasant 
voices  made  us  listen,  and  there  soon  appeared  half-way 
up  the  ladder  the  pretty  person  of  a  young  damsel,  whose 
rosy  face  was  so  cheerful,  that  even  amid  the  gloomy  light 
it  seemed  as  if  the  sunbeams  were  peeping  under  her 
bonnet.  We  next  saw  the  dark  and  handsome  features 
of  a  young  man,  who,  with  easier  gallantry  than  might 
have  been  expected  in  the  heart  of  Yankee-land,  was 
assisting  her  into  the  wagon.  It  became  immediately 
evident  to  us,  when  the  two  strangers  stood  within  the 
door,  that  they  were  of  a  profession  kindred  to  those  of 
my  companions ;  and  I  was  delighted  with  the  more  than 
hospitable,  the  even  paternal  kindness,  of  the  old  show- 
man's manner,  as  he  welcomed  them ;  while  the  man  of 
literature  hastened  to  lead  the  merry-eyed  girl  to  a  seat 
on  the  long  bench. 

"  You  are  housed  but  just  in  time,  my  young  friends," 
said  the  master  of  the  wagon.  "  The  sky  would  have 
been  down  upon  you  within  five  minutes." 

The  young  man's  reply  marked  him  as  a  foreigner,  not 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  133 

by  any  variation  from  the  idiom  and  accent  of  good  Eng- 
lish, but  because  he  spoke  with  more  caution  and  accu- 
racy, than  if  perfectly  familiar  with  the  language. 

"  We  knew  that  a  shower  was  hanging  over  us,"  said 
he,  "and  consulted  whether  it  were  best  to  enter  the 
house  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill,  but  seeing  your  wagon 
in  the  road  —  " 

"  We  agreed  to  come  hither,"  interrupted  the  girl, 
with  a  smile,  "  because  we  should  be  more  at  home  in  a 
wandering  house  like  this." 

I,  meanwhile,  with  many  a  wild  and  undetermined  fan- 
tasy, was  narrowly  inspecting  these  two  doves  that  had 
flown  into  our  ark.  The  young  man,  tall,  agile,  and 
athletic,  wore  a  mass  t)f  black  shining  curls  clustering 
round  a  dark  and  vivacious  countenance,  which,  if  it  had 
not  greater  expression,  was  at  least  more  active,  and  at- 
tracted readier  notice,  than  the  quiet  faces  of  our  country- 
men. At  his  first  appearance,  he  had  been  laden  with  a 
neat  mahogany  box,  of  about  two  feet  square,  but  very 
light  in  proportion  to  its  size,  which  he  had  immediately 
unstrapped  from  his  shoulders  and  deposited  on  the  floor 
of  the  wagon. 

The  girl  had  nearly  as  fair  a  complexion  as  our  own 
beauties,  and  a  brighter  one  than  most  of  them ;  the  light- 
ness of  her  figure,  which  seemed  calculated  to  traverse 
the  whole  world  without  weariness,  suited  well  with  the 
glowing  cheerfulness  of  her  face  ;  and  her  gay  attire, 
combining  the  rainbow  hues  of  crimson,  green,  and  a 
deep  orange,  was  as  proper  to  her  lightsome  aspect  as  if 
she  had  been  born  in  it.  This  gay  stranger  was  appro- 
priately burdened  with  that  mirth-inspiring  instrument, 
the  fiddle,  which  her  companion  took  from  her  hands,  and 
shortly  began  the  process  of  tuning.  Neither  of  us  — 
the  previous  company  of  the  wagon  —  needed  to  inquire 


134  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

their  trade  ;  for  this  could  be  no  mystery  to  frequenters 
of  brigade-musters,  ordinations,  cattle-shows,  commence- 
ments, and  other  festal  meetings  in  our  sober  land ;  and 
there  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  who  will  smile  when  this 
page  recalls  to  his  memory  a  chivalrous  deed  performed 
by  us,  in  rescuing  the  show-box  of  such  a  couple  from  a 
mob  of  great  double-fisted  countrymen. 

"  Come,"  said  I  to  the  damsel  of  gay  attire,  "  shall  we 
visit  all  the  wonders  of  the  world  together  ?  " 

She  understood  the  metaphor  at  once ;  though  indeed 
it  would  not  much  have  troubled  me,  if  she  had  assented 
to  the  literal  meaning  of  my  words.  The  mahogany  box 
was  placed  in  a  proper  position,  and  I  peeped  in  through 
its  small  round  magnifying  window,  while  the  girl  sat  by 
my  side,  and  gave  short  descriptive  sketches,  as  one -after 
another  the  pictures  were  unfolded  to  my  view.  We 
visited  together,  at  least  our  imaginations  did,  full  many  a 
famous  city,  in  the  streets  of  which  I  had  long  yearned 
to  tread ;  once,  I  remember,  we  were  in  the  harbor  of 
Barcelona,  gazing  townwards ;  next,  she  bore  me  through 
the  air  to  Sicily,  and  bade  me  look  up  at  blazing  JEtua ; 
then  we  took  whig  to  Venice,  and  sat  in  a  gondola  be- 
neath the  arch  of  the  Rialto ;  and  anon  she  sat  me  down 
among  the  thronged  spectators  at  the  coronation  of  Na- 
poleon. But  there  was  one  scene,  its  locality  she  could 
not  tell,  which  charmed  my  attention  longer  than  all  those 
gorgeous  palaces  and  churches,  because  the  fancy  haunted 
me,  that  I  myself,  the  preceding  summer,  had  beheld  just 
such  a  humble  meeting-house,  in  just  such  a  pine-sur- 
rounded nook,  among  our  own  green  mountains.  All 
these  pictures  were  tolerably  executed,  though  far  infe- 
rior to  the  girl's  touches  of  description ;  nor  was  it  easy 
to  comprehend,  how  in  so  few  sentences,  and  these,  as  I 
supposed,  in  a  language  foreign  to  her,  she  contrived  to 


THE    SEVEN   VAGABONDS.  135 

present  an  airy  copy  of  each  varied  scene.  When  "we  had 
travelled  through  the  vast  extent  of  the  mahogany  box, 
I  looked  into  my  guide's  face. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ?  "  inquired  I, 
in  the  words  of  an  old  song. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  gay  damsel,  "  you  might  as  well  ask 
where  the  summer  wind  is  going.  We  are  wanderers 
here,  and  there,  and  everywhere.  Wherever  there  is 
mirth,  our  merry  hearts  are  drawn  to  it.  To-day,  indeed, 
the  people  have  told  us  of  a  great  frolic  and  festival  in 
these  parts ;  so  perhaps  we  may  be  needed  at  what  you 
call  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford." 

Then  in  my  happy  youth,  arid  while  her  pleasant  voice 
yet  sounded  in  my  ears,  I  sighed ;  for  none  but  myself, 
I  thought,  should  have  been  her  companion  in  a  life 
which  seemed  to  realize  my  own  wild  fancies,  cherished 
all  through  visionary  boyhood  to  that  hour.  To  these 
two  strangers  the  world  was  in  its  golden  age,  not  that 
indeed  it  was  less  dark  and  sad  than  ever,  but  because 
its  weariness  and  sorrow  had  no  community  with  their 
ethereal  nature.  Wherever  they  might  appear  in  their 
pilgrimage  of  bliss,  Youth  would  echo  back  their  glad- 
ness, care-stricken  Maturity  would  rest  a  moment  from 
its  toil,  and  Age,  tottering  among  the  graves,  would  smile 
in  withered  joy  for  their  sakes.  The  lonely  cot,  the  nar- 
row and  gloomy  street,  the  sombre  shade,  would  catch  a 
passing  gleam  like  that  now  shining  on  ourselves,  as  these 
bright  spirits  wandered  by.  Blessed  pair,  whose  happy 
home  was  throughout  all  the  earth !  I  looked  at  my 
shoulders,  and  thought  them  broad  enough  to  sustain 
those  pictured  towns  and  mountains ;  mine,  too,  was  an 
elastic  foot,  as  tireless  as  the  wing  of  the  bird  of  para- 
dise ;  mine  was  then  an  untroubled  heart,  that  would 
.have  gone  singing  on  its  delightful  way. 


136  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"O  maiden!  "  said  I  aloud,  "  why  did  you  not  come 
hither  alone  ?  " 

While  the  merry  girl  and  myself  were  busy  with  the 
show-box,  the  unceasing  rain  had  driven  another  way- 
farer into  the  wagon.  He  seemed  pretty  nearly  of  the 
old  showman's  age,  but  much  smaller,  leaner,  and  more 
withered  than  he,  and  less  respectably  clad  in  a  patched 
suit  of  gray ;  withal,  he  had  a  thin,  shrewd  countenance, 
and  a  pair  of  diminutive  gray  eyes,  which  peeped  rather 
too  keenly  out  of  their  puckered  sockets.  This  old  fellow 
had  been  joking  with  the  showman,  in  a  manner  which 
intimated  previous  acquaintance  ;  but  perceiving  that  the 
damsel  and  I  had  terminated  our  affairs,  he  drew  forth  a 
folded  document,  and  presented  it  to  me.  As  I  had  an- 
ticipated, it  proved  to  be  a  circular,  written  in  a  very 
fair  and  legible  hand,  and  signed  by  several  distinguished 
gentlemen  whom  I  had  never  heard  of,  stating  that  the 
bearer  had  encountered  every  variety  of  misfortune,  and 
recommending  him  to  the  notice  of  all  charitable  people. 
Previous  disbursements  had  left  me  no  more  than  a  five- 
dollar  bill,  out  of  which,  however,  I  offered  to  make  the 
beggar  a  donation,  provided  he  would  give  me  change  for 
it.  The  object  of  my  beneficence  looked  keenly  in  my 
face,  and  discerned  that  I  had  none  of  that  abominable 
spirit,  characteristic  though  it  be,  of  a  full-blooded  Yan- 
kee, which  takes  pleasure  in  detecting  every  little  harm- 
less piece  of  knavery. 

"  Why,  perhaps,"  said  the  ragged  old  mendicant,  "  if 
the  bank  is  in  good  standing,  I  can't  say  but  I  may  have 
enough  about  me  to  change  your  bill." 

"  It  is  a  bill  of  the  Suffolk  Bank,"  said  I,  "  and  better 
than  the  specie." 

As  the  beggar  had  nothing  to  object,  he  now  produced 
a  small  buff-leather  bag,  tied  up  carefully  with  a  shoe- 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  137 

string.  When  this  was  opened,  there  appeared  a  very 
comfortable  treasure  of  silver  coins  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  ; 
and  I  even  fancied  that  I  saw,  gleaming  among  them,  the 
golden  plumage  of  that  rare  bird  in  our  currency,  th& 
American  Eagle.  In  this  precious  heap  was  my  bank. 
note  deposited,  the  rate  of  exchange  being  considerably 
against  me.  His  wants  being  thus  relieved,  the  destitute 
man  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  an  old  pack  of  greasy  cards, 
which  had  probably  contributed  to  fill  the  buff-leather 
bag,  in  more  ways  than  one. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  I  spy  a  rare  fortune  in  your 
face,  and  for  twenty -five  cents  more,  I  '11  tell  you  what 
it  is." 

I  never  refuse  to  take  a  giimpse  into  futurity ;  so, 
after  shuffling  the  cards,  and  when  the  fair  damsel  had  cut 
them,  I  dealt  a  portion  to  the  prophetic  beggar.  Like 
others  of  his  profession,  before  predicting  the  shadowy 
events  that  were  moving  on  to  meet  me,  he  gave  proof 
of  his  preternatural  science,  by  describing  scenes  through 
which  I  had  already  passed.  Here  let  me  have  credit  for 
a  sober  fact.  When  the  old  man  had  read  a  page  in  his 
book  of  fate,  he  bent  his  keen  gray  eyes  on  mine,  and 
proceeded  to  relate,  in  all  its  minute  particulars,  what 
was  then  the  most  singular  event  of  my  life.  It  was  one 
which  I  had  no  purpose  to  disclose,  till  the  general  un- 
folding of  all  secrets  ;  nor  would  it  be  a  much  stranger 
instance  of  inscrutable  knowledge,  or  fortunate  conjecture, 
it'  the  beggar  were  to  meet  me  in  the  street  to-day,  and  re- 
peat, word  for  word,  the  page  which  I  have  here  written. 
The  fortune-teller,  after  predicting  a  destiny  which  time 
seems  loath  to  make  good,  put  up  his  cards,  secreted  his 
treasure-bag,  and  began  to  converse  with  the  other  occu- 
pants of  the  wagon. 

"  Well,  old  friend,"  said  the  showman,  "  you  have  not 


138  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

yet  told  us  which  way  your  face  is  turned  this  after- 
noon." 

"  I  am  taking  a  trip  northward,  this  warm  weather/' 
replied  the  conjurer,  "across  the  Connecticut  first,  and 
then  up  through  Vermont,  and  may  be  into  Canada  before 
the  fall.  But  I  must  stop  and  see  the  breaking  up  of 
the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford." 

I  began  to  think  that  all  Hie  vagrants  in  New  England 
were  converging  to  the  camp-meeting,  and  had  made  this 
wagon  their  rendezvous  by  the  way.  The  showman  now 
proposed  that,  when  the  shower  was  over,  they  should 
pursue  the  road  to  Stamford  together,  it  being  sometimes 
the  policy  of  these  people  to  form  a  sort  of  league  and 
confederacy. 

"  And  the  young  lady  too,"  observed  the  gallant  bib- 
liopolist,  bowing  to  her  profoundly,  "and  this  foreign 
gentleman,  as  I  understand,  are  on  a  jaunt  of  pleasure 
to  the  same  spot.  It  would  add  incalculably  to  my  own 
enjoyment,  and  1  presume  to  that  of  my  colleague  and 
his  friend,  if  they  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  join  our 
party." 

This  arrangement  met  with  approbation  on  all  hands, 
nor  were  any  of  those  concerned  more  sensible  of  its  ad- 
vantages than  myself,  who  had  no  title  to  be  included  in 
it.  Having  already  satisfied  myself  as  to  the  several 
modes  in  which  the  four  others  attained  felicity,  I  next 
set  my  mind  at  work  to  discover  what  enjoyments  were 
peculiar  to  the  old  "  Straggler,"  as  the  people  of  the 
country  would  have  termed  the  wandering  mendicant  and 
prophet.  As  he  pretended  to  familiarity  with  the  Devil, 
so  I  fancied  that  he  was  fitted  to  pursue  and  take  delight- 
in  his  way  of  life,  by  possessing  some  of  the  mental  and 
moral  characteristics,  the  lighter  and  more  comic  ones, 
of  the  Devil  in  popular  stories.  Among  them  might  be 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  139 

reckoned  a  love  of  deception  for  its  own  sake,  a  shrewd 
eye  and  keen  relish  for  human  weakness  and  ridiculous 
infirmity,  and  the  talent  of  petty  fraud.  Thus  to  this  old 
man  there  would  be  pleasure  even  in  the  consciousness, 
so  insupportable  to  some  minds,  that  'his  whole  life  was 
a  cheat  upon  the  world,  and  that,  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned with  the  public,  his  little  cunning  had  the  upper 
hand  of  its  united  wisdom.  Every. day  would  furnish 
him  with  a  succession  of  minute  and  pungent  triumphs  : 
as  when,  for  instance,  his  importunity  wrung  a  pittance 
out  of  the  heart  of  a  miser,  or  when  my  silly  good-na- 
ture transferred  a  part  of  my  slender  purse  to  his  plump 
leather  bag  ;  or  when  some  ostentatious  gentleman  should 
throw  a  coin  to  the  ragged  beggar  who  was  richer  than 
himself;  or  when,  though  he  would  not  always  be  so 
decidedly  diabolical,  his  pretended  wants  should  make 
him  a  sharer  in  the  scanty  living  of  real  indigence.  And 
then  what  an  inexhaustible  field  of  enjoyment,  both  as 
enabling  him  to  discern  so  much  folly  and  achieve  such 
quantities  of  minor  mischief,  was  opened  to  his  sneering: 
spirit  by  his  pretensions  to  prophetic  knowledge. 

All  this  was  a  sort  of  happiness  which  I  could  conceive 
of,  though  I  had  little  sympathy  with  it.  Perhaps,  had 
I  been  then  inclined  to  admit  it,  I  might  have  found  that 
the  roving  life  was  more  proper  to  him  than  to  either  of 
his  companions ;  for  Satan,  to  whom  I  had  compared  the 
poor  man,  has  delighted,  ever  since  the  time  of  Job,  in 
•'  wandering  up  and  down  upon  the  earth";  and  indeed 
a  crafty  disposition,  which  operates  not  in  deep-laid 
plans,  but  in  disconnected  tricks,  could  not  have  an  ad- 
equate scope,  unless  naturally  impelled  to  a  continual 
change  of  scene  and  society.  My  reflections  were  here 
interrupted. 

"Another  visitor !  "  exclaimed  the  old  showman. 


140  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

The  door  of  the  wagon  had  been  closed  against  the 
tempest,  which  was  roaring  and  blustering  with  prodigious 
fury  and  commotion,  and  beating  violently  against  our 
shelter,  as  if  it  claimed  all  those  homeless  people  for  its 
lawful  prey,  while  we,  caring  little  for  the  displeasure  of 
the  elements,  sat  comfortably  talking.  There  was  now 
an  attempt  to  open  the  door,  succeeded  by  a  voice,  ut- 
tering some  strange,  unintelligible  gibberish,  which  my 
companions  mistook  for  Greek,  and  I  suspected  to  be 
thieves'  Latin.  However,  the  showman  stepped  forward, 
and  gave  admittance  to  a  figure  which  made  me  imagine, 
either  that  our  wagon  had  rolled  back  two  hundred  years 
into  past  ages,  or  that  the  forest  and  its  old  inhabitants 
had  sprung  up  around  us  by  enchantment. 

It  was  a  red  Indian,  armed  with  his  bow  and  arrow. 
His  dress  was  a  sort  of  cap,  adorned  with  a  single  feather 
of  some  wild  bird,  and  a  frock  of  blue  cotton,  girded 
tight  about  him;  on  his  breast,  like  orders  of  knight- 
hood, hung  a  crescent  and  a  circle,  and  other  ornaments 
of  silver;  while  a  small  crucifix  betokened  that  our 
Father  the  Pope  had  interposed  between  the  Indian  and 
the  Great  Spirit,  whom  he  had  worshipped  in  his  sim- 
plicity. This  son  of  the  wilderness,  and  pilgrim  of 
the  storm,  took  his  place  silently  in  the  midst  of  us. 
When  the  first  surprise  was  over,  I  rightly  conjectured 
him  to  be  one  of  the  Penobscot  tribe,  parties  of  which  I 
had  often  seen,  in  their  summer  excursions  down  our 
Eastern  rivers.  There  they  paddle  their  birch  canoes 
among  the  coasting  schooners,  and  build  their  wigwam 
beside  some  roaring  milldam,  and  drive  a  little  trade  in 
basket-work  where  their  fathers  hunted  deer.  Our  new 
visitor  was  probably  wandering  through  the  country 
towards  Boston,  subsisting  on  the  careless  charity  of  the 
people,  while  he  turned  his  archery  to  profitable  account 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  141 

by  shooting  at  cents,  which  were  to  be  the  prize  of  his 
successful  aim. 

The  Indian  had  not  long  been  seated,  ere  our  merry 
damsel  sought  to  draw  him  into  conversation.  She,  in- 
deed, seemed  all  made  up  of  sunshine  in  the  month  of 
May ;  for  there  was  nothing  so  dark  and  dismal  that  her 
pleasant  mind  could  not  cast  a  glow  over  it;  and  the 
wild  man,  like  a  fir-tree  in  his  native  forest,  soon  began, 
to  brighten  into  a  sort  of  sombre  cheerfulness.  At  length, 
she  inquired  whether  his  jonrney  had  any  particular  end 
or  purpose. 

"  I  go  shoot  at  the  camp-meeting  at  Stamford,"  replied 
the  Indian. 

"And  here  are  five  more,"  said  the  girl,  "all  aiming 
at  the  camp-meeting  too.  You  shall  be  one  of  us,  for  we 
travel  with  light  hearts;  and  as  for  me,  I  sing  merry 
songs,  and  tell  merry  tales,  and  am  full  of  merry  thoughts, 
and  I  dance  merrily  along  the  road,  so  that  there  is  never 
any  sadness  among  them  that  keep  me  company.  But, 
0,  you  would  find  it  very  dull  indeed,  to  go  all  the  way 
to  Stamford  alone  !  " 

My  ideas  of  the  aboriginal  character  led  me  to  fear  that 
the  Indian  would  prefer  his  own  solitary  musings  to  the 
gay  society  thus  offered  him ;  on  the  contrary,  the  girl's 
proposal  met  with  immediate  acceptance,  and  seemed  to 
animate  him  with  a  misty  expectation  of  enjoyment.  I 
HOW  gave  myself  up  to  a  course  of  thought  which,  whether 
it  flowed  naturally  from  this  combination  of  events,  or 
\vas  drawn  forth  by  a  wayward  fancy,  caused  my  mind  to 
thrill  as  if  I  were  listening  to  deep  music.  I  saw  man- 
kind, in  this  weary  old  age  of  the  world,  either  enduring 
a  sluggish  existence  amid  the  smoke  and  dust  of  cities, 
or,  if  they  breathed  a  purer  air,  still  lying  down  at  night 
\rith  no  hope  but  to  wear  out  to-morrow,  and  all  the 


142  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

to-morrows  which  make  up  life,  among  the  same  dull 
scenes  and  in  the  same  wretched  toil  that  had  darkened 
the  sunshine  of  to-day.  But  there  were  some,  full  of  the 
primeval  instinct,  who  preserved  the  freshness  of  youth 
to  their  latest  years  by  the  continual  excitement  of  new 
objects,  new  pursuits,  and  new  associates;  and  cared 
little,  though  their  birthplace  might  have  been  here  in 
New  England,  if  the  grave  should  close  over  them  in 
Central  Asia.  Fate  was  summoning  a  parliament  of 
these  free  spirits;  unconscious  of  the  impulse  which 
directed  them  to  a  common  centre,  they  had  come  hither 
from  far  and  near;  and  last  of  all  appeared  the  repre- 
sentative of  those  mighty  vagrants,  who  had  chased  the 
deer  during  thousands  of  years,  and  were  chasing  it  now 
in  the  Spirit  Laud.  Wandering  down  through  the  waste 
of  ages,  the  woods  had  vanished  around  his  path;  his 
arm  had  lost  somewhat  of  its  strength,  his  foot  of  its 
fleetness,  his  mien  of  its  wild  regality,  his  heart  and  mind 
of  their  savage  virtue  and  uncultured  force;  but  here, 
untamable  to  the  routine  of  artificial  life,  roving  now 
along  the  dusty  road,  as  of  old  over  the  forest  leaves, 
here  was  the  Indian  still. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  showman,  in  the  midst  of  my 
meditations,  "  here  is  an  honest  company  of  us,  —  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  —  all  going  to  the  camp-meek 
ing  at  Stamford.  Now,  hoping  no  offence,  I  should  like 
to  know  where  this  young  gentleman  may  be  going  ?  " 

I  started.  How  came  I  among  these  wanderers  ? 
The  free  mind,  that  preferred  its  own  folly  to  another's 
wisdom ;  the  open  spirit,  that  found  companions  every- 
where ;  above  all,  the  restless  impulse,  that  had  so  often 
made  me  wretched  in  the  midst  of  enjoyments:  these 
*were  my  claims  to  be  of  their  society. 

"  My  friends  ! "  cried  I,  stepping  into  the  centre  of 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  143 

the  wagon,  "  I  am  going  with  you  to  the  camp-meeting 
at  Stamford." 

"  But  in  what  capacity  ? "  asked  the  old  showman, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  "  All  of  us  here  can  get  our 
bread  in  some  creditable  way.  Every  honest  man  should 
have  his  livelihood.  You,  sir,  as  I  take  it,  are  a  mere 
strolling  gentleman." 

I  proceeded  to  inform  the  company,  that,  when  Nature 
gave  me  a  propensity  to  their  way  of  life,,  she  had  not 
left  me  altogether  destitute  of  qualifications  for  it; 
though  I  could  not  deny  that  my  talent  was  less  re- 
spectable, and  might  be  less  profitable,  than  the  meanest 
of  theirs.  My  design,  in  short,  was  to  imitate  the  story- 
tellers of  whom  Oriental  travellers  have  told  us,  and  be- 
come an  itinerant  novelist,  reciting  my  own  extempora- 
neous fictions  to  such  audiences  as  I  could  collect. 

"  Either  this,"  said  I,  "  is  my  vocation,  or  I  have  been 
born  in  vain." 

The  fortune-teller,  with  a  sly  wink  to  the  company, 
proposed  to  take  me  as  an  apprentice  to  one  or  other 
of  his  professions,  either  of  which,  undoubtedly,  would 
have  given  full  scope  to  whatever  inventive  talent  I 
might  possess.  The  bibliopolist  spoke  a  few  words  in 
opposition  to  my  plan,  influenced  partly,  I  suspect,  by 
the  jealousy  of  authorship,  and  partly  by  an  apprehension 
that  the  viva  voce  practice  would  become  general  among 
novelists,  to  the  infinite  detriment  of  the  book-trade. 
Dreading  a  rejection,  I  solicited  the  interest  of  the  merry 
damsel. 

"Mirth,"  cried  I,  most  aptly  appropriating  the  words 
of  L'Allegro,  "  to  thee  I  sue  !  Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy 
crew ! " 

"Let  us  indulge  the  poor  youth,"  said  Mirth,  with  a 
kindness  which  made  me  love  her  dearly,  though  I  was 


144  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

no  such  coxcomb  as  to  misinterpret  her  motives.  "I 
have  espied  much  promise  in  him.  True,  a  shadow  some- 
times flits  across  his  brow,  but  the  sunshine  is  sure  to 
follow  in  a  moment.  He  is  never  guilty  of  a  sad  thought, 
but  a  merry  one  is  twin  born  with  it.  We  will  take  him 
with  us;  and  you  shall  see  that  he  will  set  us  all 
a-laughing  before  we  reach  the  camp-meeting  at  Stam- 
ford." 

Her  voice  silenced  the  scruples  of  the  rest,  and  gained 
me  admittance  into  the  league  ;  according  to  the  terms; 
of  which,  without  a  community  of  goods  or  profits,  we 
were  to  lend  each  other  all  the  aid,  and  avert  all  the 
harm,  that  might  be  in  our  power.  This  aifair  settled, 
a  marvellous  jollity  entered  into  the  whole  tribe  of  us, 
manifesting  itself  characteristically  in  each  individual. 
The  old  showman,  sitting  down  to  his  barrel-organ, 
stirred  up  the  souls  of  the  pygmy  people  with  one  of 
the  quickest  tunes  in  the  music-book ;  tailors,  black- 
smiths, gentlemen,  and  ladies,  all  seemed  to  share  in  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion ;  and  tbe  Merry-Andrew  played 
his  part  more  facetiously  than  ever,  nodding  and  wink- 
ing particularly  at  me.  The  young  foreigner  flourished 
his  fiddle-bow  with  a  master's  hand,  and  gave  an  inspir- 
ing echo  to  the  showman's  melody.  The  bookish  man 
and  the  merry  damsel  started  up  simultaneously  to  dance ; 
the  former  enacting  the  double  shuffle  in  a  style  which 
everybody  must  have  witnessed,  ere  Election  week  was 
blotted  out  of  time;  while  the  girl,  setting  her  arms 
akimbo  with  both  hands  at  her  slim  waist,  displayed 
such  light  rapidity  of  foot,  and  harmony  of  varying  atti- 
tude and  motion,  that  I  could  not  conceive  how  she  ever 
was  to  stop ;  imagining,  at  the  moment,  that  Nature  had 
made  her,  as  the  old  showman  had  made  his  puppets;  for 
no  earthly  purpose  but  to  dance  jigs.  The  Indian  bel- 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS.  145 

lowed  forth  a  succession  of  most  hideous  outcries,  some- 
what affrighting  us,  till  we  interpreted  them  as  the  war- 
song,  with  which,  in  imitation  of  his  ancestors,  he  was 
prefacing  the  assault  on  Stamford.  The  conjurer,  mean- 
while, sat  demurely  in  a  corner,  extracting  a  sly  enjoy- 
ment from  the  whole  scene,  and,  like  the  facetious  Merry- 
Andrew,  directing  his  queer  glance  particularly  at  me. 

As  for  myself,  with  great  exhilaration  of  fancy,  I 
began  to  arrange  and  color  the  incidents  of  a  tale,  where- 
with I  proposed  to  amuse  an  audience  that  very  evening ; 
for  I  saw  that  my  associates  were  a  little  ashamed  of  me, 
and  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in  obtaining  a  public  ac- 
knowledgment of  my  abilities. 

"  Come,  fellow-laborers,"  at  last  said  the  old  show- 
man, whom  we  had  elected  President;  "the  shower  is 
over,  and  we  must  be  doing  our  duty  by  these  poor  souls 
at  Stamford." 

"  We  '11  come  among  them  in  procession,  with  music 
and  dancing,"  cried  the  merry  damsel. 

Accordingly  —  for  it  must  be  understood  that  our 
pilgrimage  was  to  be  performed  on  foot  —  we  sallied 
joyously  out  of  the  wagon,  each  of  us,  even  the  old 
gentleman  in  his  white-top  boots,  giving  a  great  skip  as 
we  came  down  the  ladder.  Above  our  heads  there  was 
such  a  glory  of  sunshine  and  splendor  of  clouds,  and 
such  brightness  of  verdure  below,  that,  as  I  modestly 
remarked  at  the  time,  Nature  seemed  to  have  washed 
her  face,  and  put  on  the  best  of  her  jewelry  and  a  fresh 
green  gown,  in  honor  of  our  confederation.  Casting  our 
eyes  northward,  we  beheld  a  horseman  approaching  leis- 
urely, and  splashing  through  the  little  puddles  on  the 
Stamford  road.  Onward  he  came,  sticking  up  in  his 
saddle  with  rigid  perpendicularity,  a  tall,  thin  figure  in 
rusty  black,  whom  the  showman  and  the  conjurer  shortly 

VOL.  II.  7  J 


146  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

recognized  to  be,  what  his  aspect  sufficiently  indicated,  a 
travelling  preacher  of  great  fame  among  the  Methodists. 
What  puzzled  US'  was  the  fact,  that  his  face  appeared 
turned  from,  instead  of  to,  the  camp-meeting  at  Stam- 
ford. However,  as  this  new  votary  of  the  wandering 
life  drew  near  the  little  green  space,  where  the  guidepost 
and  our  wagon  were  situated,  my  six  fellow-vagabonds 
and  myself  rushed  forward  and  surrounded  him,  crying 
out  with  united  voices,  — 

"  What  news,  what  news  from  the  camp-meeting  at 
Stamford  ?  " 

The  missionary  looked  down,  in  surprise,  at  as  singu- 
lar a  knot  of  people  as  could  have  been  selected  from  all 
his  heterogeneous  auditors.  Indeed,  considering  that  we 
might  all  be  classified  under  the  general  head  of  Vaga- 
bond, there  was  great  diversity  of  character  among  the 
grave  old  showman,  the  sly,  prophetic  beggar,  the  fid- 
dling foreigner  and  his  merry  damsel,  the  smart  bibliop- 
olist,  the  sombre  Indian,  and  myself,  the  itinerant  nov- 
elist, a  slender  youth  of  eighteen.  I  even  fancied  that 
a  smile  was  endeavoring  to  disturb  the  iron  gravity  of 
the  preacher's  mouth. 

"  Good  people,"  answered  he,  "  the  camp-meetiag  is 
broke  up." 

So  saying,  the  Methodist  minister  switched  his  steed, 
and  rode  westward.  Our  union  being  thus  nullified,  by 
the  removal  of  its  object,  we  were  sundered  at  once  to 
the  four  winds  of  heaven.  The  fortune-teller,  giving  a 
nod  to  all,  and  a  peculiai  wink  to  me,  departed  on  his 
northern  tour,  chuckling  within  himself  as  he  took  the 
Stamford  road.  •  The  old  showman  and  his  literary  co- 
adjutor were  already  tackling  their  horses  to  the  wagon, 
with  a  design  to  peregrinate  southwest  along  the  sea- 
coast.  The  foreigner  and  the  merry  damsel  took  their 


THE    SEVEN    VAGABONDS. 


147 


laughing  leave,  and  pursued  the  eastern  road,  which  I 
had  that  day  trodden ;  as  they  passed  away,  the  young 
man  played  a  lively  strain,  and  the  girl's  happy  spirit 
broke  into  a  dance ;  and  thus,  dissolving,  as  it  were, 
into  sunbeams  and  gay  music,  that  pleasant  pair  de- 
parted from  my  view.  Finally,  with  a  pensive  shadow 
thrown  across  my  mind,  yet  emulous  of  the  light  philos- 
ophy of  my  late  companions,  I  joined  myself  to  the 
IVnobscot  Indian,  and  set  forth  towards  the  distant 
city. 


THE  WHITE   OLD   MAID. 

|HE  moonbeams  came  through  two  deep  and 
narrow  windows,  and  showed  a  spacious  cham- 
ber, richly  furnished  in  an  antique  fashion. 
From  one  lattice,  the  shadow  of  the  diamond  panes  was 
thrown  upon  the  floor ;  the  ghostly  light,  through  the 
other,  slept  upon  a  bed,  falling  between  the  heavy 
silken  curtains,  and  illuminating  the  face  of  a  young 
man.  But,  how  quietly  the  slumberer  lay  !  how  pale  his 
features !  and  how  like  a  shroud  the  sheet  was  wound 
about  his  frame !  Yes ;  it  was  a  corpse,  in  its  burial- 
•clothes. 

Suddenly,  the  fixed  features  seemed  to  move,  with 
dark  emotion.  Strange  fantasy  !  It  was  but  the  shadow 
of  the  fringed  curtain,  waving  betwixt  the  dead  face 
and  the  moonlight,  as  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened, 
and  a  girl  stole  softly  to  the  bedside.  Was  there  delu- 
sion in  the  moonbeams,  or  did  her  gesture  and  her  eye 
betray  a  gleam  of  triumph,  as  she  bent  over  the  pale 
corpse  —  pale  as  itself  —  and  pressed  her  living  lips  to 
the  cold  ones  of  the  dead  ?  As  she  drew  back  from  that ' 
long  kiss,  her  features  writhed,  as  if  a  proud  heart  were 
fighting  with  its  anguish.  Again  it  seemed  that  the 
features  of  the  corpse  had  moved  responsive  to  her 
awn.  Still  an  illusion !  The  silken  curtain  had  waved, 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  149 

a  second  time,  betwixt  the  dead  face  and  the  moonlight, 
as  another  fair  young  girl  unclosed  the  door,  and  glided, 
ghost-like,  to  the  bedside.  There  the  two  maidens 
stood,  both  beautiful,  with  the  pale  beauty  of  the  dead 
between  them.  But  she,  who  had  first  entered,  was 
proud  and  stately;  and  the  other,  a  soft  and  fragile 
thing. 

"Away!"  cried  the  lofty  one.  "Thou  hadst  him 
living !  The  dead  is  mine  !  " 

"Thine!"  returned  the  other,  shuddering.  "Well 
hast  thou  spoken  !  The  dead  is  thine  !  " 

The  proud  girl  started,  and  stared  into  her  face,  with 
a  ghastly  look.  But  a  wild  and  mournful  expression 
passed  across  the  features  of  the  gentle  one  ;  and,  weak 
and  helpless,  she  sank  down  on  the  bed,  her  head  pil- 
lowed beside  that  of  the  corpse,  and  her  hair  mingling 
with  his  dark  locks.  A  creature  of  hope  and  joy,  the 
first  draught  of  sorrow  had  bewildered  her. 

"  Edith  !  "  cried  her  rival. 

Edith  groaned,  as  with  a  sudden  compression  of  the 
heart;  and  removing  her  cheek  from  the  dead  youth's 
pillow,  she  stood  upright,  fearfully  encountering  the 
eyes  of  the  lofty  girl. 

"  Wilt  thou  betray  me  ?  "  said  the  latter,  calmly. 

"Till  the  dead  bid  me  speak,  I  will  be  silent,"  an- 
swered Edith.  "Leave  us  alone  together!  Go,  and 
live  many  years,  and  then  return,  and  tell  me  of  thy 
life.  He,  too,  will  be  here!  Then,  if  thou  tellest 
of  sufferings  more  than  death,  we  will  both  forgive 
thee." 

"  And  what  shall  be  the  token  ?  "  asked  the  proud 
girl,  as  if  her  heart  acknowledged  a  meaning  in  these 
wild  words. 

"This  lock  .of  hair,"  said  Edith,  lifting  one  of  the 


150  TWTCE-TOLD   TALES. 

dark,  clustering  curls,  that  lay  heavily  on  the  dead  man's 
brow. 

The  two  maidens  joined  their  hands  over  the  bosom  of 
the  corpse,  and  appointed  a  day  and  hour,  far,  far  in  time 
to  come,  for  their  next  meeting  in  that  chamber.  The 
statelier  girl  gave  one  deep  look  at  the  motionless  coun- 
tenance, and  departed,  — -  yet  turned  again  and  trembled, 
ere  she  closed  the  door,  almost  believing  that  her  dead 
lover  frowned  upon  her.  And  Edith,  too  !  Was  not  her 
white  form  fading  into  the  moonlight  ?  Scorning  her  own 
weakness,  she  went  forth,  and  perceived  that  a  negro 
slave  was  waiting  in  the  passage,  with  a  wax  light,  which 
he  held  between  her  face  and  his  own,  and  regarded  her, 
as  she  thought,  with  an  ugly  expression  of  merriment. 
Lifting  his  torch  on  high,  the  slave  lighted  her  down  the 
staircase,  and  undid  the  portal  of  the  mansion.  The 
young  clergyman  of  the  town  had  just  ascended  the 
steps,  and  bowing  to  the  lady,  passed  in  without  a 
word. 

Years,  many  years  rolled  on ;  the  world  seemed  new 
again,  so  much  older  was  it  grown,  since  the  night  when 
those  pale  girls  had  clasped  their  hands  across  the  bosom 
of  the  corpse.  In  the  interval,  a  lonely  woman  had 
passed  from  youth  to  extreme  age,  and  was  known  by 
all  the  town,  as  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet." 
A  taint  of  insanity  had  affected  her  whole  life,  but  so 
quiet,  sad,  and  gentle,  so  utterly  free  from  violence,  that 
she  was  suffered  to  pursue  her  harmless  fantasies,  unmo- 
lested by  the  world,  with  whose  business  or  pleasures  she 
had  naught  to  do.  She  dwelt  alone,  and  never  came  into 
the  daylight,  except  to  follow  funerals.  Whenever  a 
corpse  was  borne  along  the  street,  in  sunshine,  rain,  or 
snow,  whether  a  pompous  train,  of  the  rich  and  proud, 
thronged  after  it,  or  few  and  humble  were  the  mourners, 


THE   WHITE   OLD   MAID.  151 

behind  them  came  the  lonely  woman,  in  a  long,  white 
garment,  which  the  people  called  her  shroud.  She  took 
no  place  among  the  kindred  or  the  friends,  but  stood  at 
the  door  to  hear  the  funeral  prayer,  and  walked  in  the 
rear  of  the  procession,  as  one  whose  earthly  charge  it  was 
to  haunt  the  house  of  mourning,  and  be  the  shadow  of 
affliction,  and  see  that  the  dead  were  duly  buried.  So 
long  had  this  been  her  custom,  that  the  inhabitants  of 
the  town  deemed  her  a  part  of  every  funeral,  as  much  as 
the  coffin  pall,  or  the  very  corpse  itself,  and  augured  ill 
of  the  sinner's  destiny,  unless  the  "Old  Maid  in  the 
Winding-Sheet"  came  gliding,  like  a  ghost,  behind. 
Once,  it  is  said,  she  affrighted  a  bridal  party,  with  her 
pale  presence,  appearing  suddenly  in  the  illuminated  hall, 
just  as  the  priest  was  uniting  a  false  maid  to  a  wealthy 
man,  before  her  lover  had  been  dead  a  year.  Evil  was 
the  omen  to  that  marriage  !  Sometimes  she  stole  forth 
by  moonlight,  and  visited  the  graves  of  venerable  Integ- 
rity, and  wedded  Love,  and  virgin  Innocence,  and  every 
spot  where  the  ashes  of  a  kind  and  faithful  heart  were 
mouldering.  Over  the  hillocks  of  those  favored  dead 
would  she  stretch  out  her  arms,  with  a  gesture,  as  if 
she  were  scattering  seeds ;  and  many  believed  that 
she  brought  them  from  the  garden  of  Paradise ;  for  the 
graves,  which  she  had  visited,  were  green  beneatli  the 
snow,  and  covered  with  sweet  flowers  from  April  to 
November.  Her  blessing  was  better  than  a  holy  verse 
upon  the  tombstone.  Thus  wore  away  her  long,  sad, 
peaceful,  and  fantastic  life,  till  few  were  so  old  as  she, 
and  the  people  of  later  generations  wondered  how  the 
dead  had  ever  been  buried,  or  mourners  had  endured 
their  grief,  without  the  "Old  Maid  in  the  Winding- 
Sheet." 

Still,  years  went  on,  and  still  she  followed  funerals, 


152  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

and  was  not  yet  summoned  to  her  own  festival  of  death. 
One  afternoon,  the  great  street  of  the  town  was  all  alive 
with  business  and  bustle,  though  the  sun  now  gilded  only 
the  upper  half  of  the  church-spire,  having  left  the  house- 
tops and  loftiest  trees  in  shadow.  The  scene  was  cheer- 
ful and  animated,  in  spite  of  the  sombre  shade  between 
the  high  brick  buildings.  Here  were  pompous  merchants, 
in  white  wigs  and  laced  velvet ;  the  bronzed  faces  of  sea- 
captains;  the  foreign  garb  and  air  of  Spanish  Creoles; 
and  the  disdainful  port  of  natives  of  Old  England ;  all 
contrasted  with  the  rough  aspect  of  one  or  two  back 
settlers,  negotiating  sales  of  timber,  from  forests  where 
axe  had  never  sounded.  Sometimes  a  lady  passed,  swell- 
ing roundly  forth  in  an  embroidered  petticoat,  balancing 
her  steps  in  high-heeled  shoes,  and  courtesyiug,  with 
lofty  grace,  to  the  punctilious  obeisances  of  the  gentle- 
men. The  life  of  the  town  seemed  to  have  its  very  centre 
not  far  from  an  old  mansion,  that  stood  somewhat  back 
from  the  pavement,  surrounded  by  neglected  grass,  with 
a  strange  air  of  loneliness,  rather  deepened  than  dispelled 
by  the  throng  so  near  it.  Its  site  would  have  been  suit- 
ably occupied  by  a  magnificent  Exchange,  or  a  brick 
block,  lettered  all  over  with  various  signs ;  or  the  large 
house  itself  might  have  made  a  noble  tavern,  with  the 
"  King's  Arms  "  swinging  before  it,  and  guests  in  every 
chamber,  instead  of  the  present  solitude.  But,  owing  to 
some  dispute  about  the  right  of  inheritance,  the  mansion 
had  been  long  without  a  tenant,  decaying  from  year  to 
year,  and  throwing  the  stately  gloom  of  its  shadow  over 
the  busiest  part  of  the  town.  Such  was  the  scene,  and 
such  the  time,  when  a  figure,  unlike  any  that  have 
been  described,  was  observed  at  a  distance  down  the 
street. 

"  I  espy  a  strange  sail,  yonder,"  remarked  a  Liver- 


THE    WHITE   OLD    MAID.  153 

pool  captain ;  "  that  woman  in  the  long,  white  gar- 
ment ! " 

The  sailor  seemed  much  struck  by  the  object,  as  were 
several  others,  who,  at  the  same  moment,  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  figure  that  had  attracted  his  notice.  Al- 
most immediately,  the  various  topics  of  conversation  gave 
place  to  speculations,  in  an  undertone,  on  this  unwonted 
occurrence. 

"  Can  there  be  a  funeral,  so  late  this  afternoon  ?  "  in- 
quired some. 

They  looked  for  the  signs  of  death  at  every  door,  — 
the  sexton,  the  hearse,  the  assemblage  of  black-clad  rela- 
tives, —  all  that  makes  up  the  woful  pomp  of  funerals. 
They  raised  their  eyes,  also,  to  the  sun-gilt  spire  of  the 
church,  and  wondered  that  no  clang  proceeded  from  its 
bell,  which  had  always  tolled  till  now,  when  this  figure 
appeared  in  the  light  of  day.  But  none  had  heard  that  a 
corpse  was  to  be  borne  to  its  home  that  afternoon,  nor 
was  there  any  token  of  a  funeral,  except  the  apparition 
of  the  "  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet." 

"  What  may  this  portend  ?  "  asked  each  man  of  his 
neighbor. 

All  smiled  as  they  put  the  question,  yet  with  a  certain 
trouble  in  their  eyes,  as  if  pestilence,  or  some  other  wide 
calamity,  were  prognosticated  by  the  untimely  intrusion 
among  the  living,  of  one  whose  presence  had  always  been 
associated  with  death  and  woe.  What  a  comet  is  to  the 
earth,  was  that  sad  woman  to  the  town.  Still  she  moved 
on,  while  the  hum  of  surprise  was  hushed  at  her  approach, 
and  the  proud  and  the  humble  stood  aside,  that  her  white 
garment  might  not  wave  against  them.  It  was  a  long, 
loose  robe,  of  spotless  purity.  Its  wearer  appeared  very 
old,  pale,  emaciated,  and  feeble,  yet  glided  onward,  with- 
out the  unsteady  pace  of  extreme  age.  At  oue  point  of 


154  TVTICE-TOLD   TALES. 

her  course,  a  littly  rosy  boy  burst  forth  from  a  door,  and 
ran,  with  open  arms,  towards  the  ghostly  woman,  seem- 
ing to  expect  a  kiss  from  her  bloodless  lips.  She  made 
•a  slight  pause,  fixing  her  eye  upon  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  no  earthly  sweetness,  so  that  the  child  shivered 
and  stood  awe-struck,  rather  than  affrighted,  while  the 
Old  Maid  passed  on.  Perhaps  her  garment  might  have 
been  polluted  even  by  an  infant's  touch ;  perhaps  her  kiss 
would  have  been  death  to  the  sweet  boy,  within  a  year. 

"She  is  but  a  shadow,"  whispered  the  superstitious. 
"  The  child  put  forth  his  arms  and  could  not  grasp  her 
robe  ! " 

The  wonder  was  increased,  when  the  Old  Maid  passed 
beneath  the  porch  of  the  deserted  mansion,  ascended  the 
moss-covered  steps,  lifted  the  iron  knocker,  and  gave 
three  raps.  The  people  could  only  conjecture,  that  some 
old  remembrance,  troubling  her  bewildered  brain,  had 
impelled  the  poor  woman  hither  to  visit  the  friends  of  her 
youth  ;  all  gone  from  their  home,  long  since  and  forever, 
unless  their  ghosts  still  haunted  it,  —  fit  company  for  the 
"  Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet."  An  elderly  man  ap- 
proached the  steps,  and  reverently  uncovering  his  gray 
locks,  essayed  to  explain  the  matter. 

"None,  Madam,"  said  he,  "have  dwelt  in  this  house 
these  fifteen  years  agone,  —  no,  not  since  the  death  of  old 
Colonel  Fenwieke,  A*hose  funeral  you  may  remember  to 
have  followed.  His  heirs  being  ill  agreed  among  them- 
selves, have  let  the  mansion-house  go  to  ruin." 

The  Old  Maid  looked  slowly  round,  with  a  slight  ges- 
ture of  one  hand,  and  a  finger  of  the  other  upon  her  lip, 
appearing  more  shadow-like  than  ever,  in  the  obscurity 
of  the  porch.  But  again  she  lifted  the  hammer,  and  gave, 
this  time,  a  single  rap.  Could  it  be  that  a  footstep  was 
now  heard,  coming  down  the  staircase  of  the  old  mansion, 


THE    WHITE    OLD   MAID.  155 

which  all  conceived  to  have  been  so  long  untenanted  ? 
Slowly,  feebly,  yet  heavily,  like  the  pace  of  an  aged  and 
infirm  person,  the  step  approached,  more  distinct  on  every 
downward  stair,  till  it  reached  the  portal.  The  bar  fell 
on  the  inside ;  the  door  was  opened.  One  upward  glance, 
towards  the  church-spire,  whence  the  sunshine  had  just 
Faded,  was  the  last  that  the  people  saw  of  the  "  Old  Maid 
in  the  Winding-Sheet." 

"  Who  undid  the  door  ?  "  asked  many. 

Tliis  question,  owing  to  the  depth  of  shadow  beneath 
the  porch,  no  one  could  satisfactorily  answer.  Two  or 
three  aged  men,  while  protesting  against  an  inference, 
Tvhich  might  be  drawn,  affirmed  that  the  person  within 
was  a  negro,  and  bore  a  singular  resemblance  to  old 
Caesar,  formerly  a  slave  in  the  house,  but  freed  by  death 
some  thirty  years  before. 

"  Her  summons  has  waked  up  a  servant  of  the  old 
family,"  said  one,  half  seriously. 

"  Let  us  wait  here,"  replied  another.  "  More  guests 
will  knock  at  the  door,  anon.  But  the  gate  of  the  grave- 
yard should  be  thrown  open !  " 

Twilight  had  overspread  the  town,  before  the  crowd 
began  to  separate,  or  the  comments  on  this  incident  were 
•exhausted.  One  after  another  was  wending  his  way  home- 
ward, when  a  coach  —  no  common  spectacle  in  those  days 
—  drove  slowly  into  the  street.  It  was  an  old-fashioned 
equipage,  hanging  close  to  the  ground,  with  arms  on  the 
panels,  a  footman  behind,  and  a  grave,  corpulent  coach- 
man seated  high  in  front,  —  the  whole  giving  an  idea  of 
solemn  state  and  dignity.  There  was  something  awful, 
in  the  heavy  rumbling  of  the  wheels.  The  coach  rolled 
down  the  street,  till,  coming  to  the  gateway  of  the  de- 
serted mansion,  it  drew  up,  and  the  footman  sprang  to 
the  ground. 


156  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"  Whose  grand  coach  is  this  ?  "  asked  a  very  inquisi- 
tive body. 

The  footman  made  no  reply,  but  ascended  the  steps  of 
the  old  house,  gave  three  rap's  with  the  iron  hammer,  and 
returned  to  open  the  coach-door.  An  old  man  possessed 
of  the  heraldic  lore  so  common  in  that  day  examined  t  he- 
shield  of  arms  on  the  panel. 

"  Azure,  a  lion's  head  erased,  between  three  flower-de- 
luces,"  said  he ;  then  whispered  the  name  of  the  family  to 
whom  these  bearings  belonged.  The  last  inheritor  of  its 
honors  was  recently  dead,  after  a  long  residence  amid  the 
splendor  of  the  British  court,  where  his  birth  and  wealth 
had  given  him  no  mean  station.  "  He  left  no  child,"  con- 
tinued the  herald,  "  and  these  arms,  being  in  a  lozenge, 
betoken  that  the  coach  appertains  to  his  widow." 

Further  disclosures,  perhaps,  might  have  been  made, 
bad  not  the  speaker  suddenly  been  struck  dumb,  by  the 
stern  eye  of  an  ancient  lady,  who  thrust  forth  her  head 
from  the  coach,  preparing  to  descend.  As  she  emerged, 
the  people  saw  that  her  dress  was  magnificent,  and  her 
figure  dignified,  in  spite  of  age  and  infirmity,  —  a  stately 
ruin,  but  with  a  look,  at  once,  of  pride  and  wretchedness. 
Her  strong  and  rigid  features  had  an  awe  about  them, 
unlike  that  of  the 'white  Old  Maid,  but  as  of  something 
evil.  She  passed  up  the  steps,  leaning  on  a  "gold-headed 
cane ;  the  door  swung  open,  as  she  ascended,  —  and  the 
light  of  a  torch  glittered  on  the  embroidery  of  her  dress, 
and  gleamed  on  the  pillars  of  the  porch.  After  a  mo- 
mentary pause  —  a  glance  backwards  —  and  then  a  des- 
perate effort  —  she  went  in.  The  decipherer  of  the  coat 
of  arms  had  ventured  up  the  lowest  step,  and  shrinking 
back  immediately,  pale  and  tremulous,  affirmed  that  the 
torch  was  held  by  the  very  image  of  old  Caesar. 

"But,  such  a  hideous  grin,"  added  he,  "was  never 


THE    WHITE    OLD    MAID.  157 

seen  on  the  face  of  mortal  man,  black  or  white  !  It  will 
haunt  me  till  my  dying  day." 

Meantime,  the  coach  had  wheeled  round,  with  a  pro- 
digious clatter  on  the  pavement,  and  rumbled  up  the 
street,  disappearing  in  the  twilight,  while  the  ear  still 
tracked  its  course.  Scarcely  was  it  gone,  when  the  peo- 
ple began  to  question  whether  the  coach  and  attendants, 
the  ancient  lady,  the  spectre  of  old  Caesar,  and  the  Old 
Maid  herself,  were  not  all  a  strangely  combined  delusion, 
with  some  dark  purport  in  its  mystery.  The  whole  town 
was  astir,  so  that,  instead  of  dispersing,  the  crowd  con- 
tinually increased,  and  stood  gazing  up  at  the  windows 
of  the  mansion,  now  silvered  by  the  brightening  moon. 
The  elders,  glad  to  indulge  the  narrative  propensity  of 
age,  told  of  the  long-faded  splendor  of  the  family,  the 
entertainments  they  had  given,  and  the  guests,  the  great- 
est of  the  land,  and  even  titled  and  noble  ones  from 
abroad,  who  had  passed  beneath  that  portal.  These 
graphic  reminiscences  seemed  to  call  up  the  ghosts  of 
those  to  whom  they  referred.  So  strong  was  the  impres- 
sion, on  some  of  the  more  imaginative  hearers,  that  two 
or  three  were  seized  with  trembling  fits,  at  one  and  \  the 
same  moment,  protesting  that  they  had  distinctly  heard 
three  other  raps  of  the  iron  knocker. 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  others.  "  See  !  The  moon 
shines  beneath  the  porch,  and  shows  every  part  of  it, 
except  in  the  narrow  shade  of  that  pillar.  There  is  no 
one  there  !  " 

"  Did  not  the  door  open  ? "  whispered  one  of  these 
fanciful  persons. 

"  Didst  thou  see  it,  too  ?  "  said  his  companion,  in  a 
startled  tone. 

But  the  general  sentiment  was  opposed  to  the  idea, 
that  a  third  visitant  had  made  application  at  the  door 


158  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

of  the  deserted  house.  A  few,  however,  adhered  to  this 
new  marvel,  and  even  declared  that  a  red  gleam,  like 
that  of  a  torch,  had  shone  through  the  great  front 
window,  as  if  the  negro  were  lighting  a  guest  up  the 
staircase.  This,  too,  was  pronounced  a  mere  fantasy. 
But,  at  once,  the  whole  multitude  started,  and  each  man. 
beheld  his  own  terror  painted  in  the  faces  of  all  the  rest. 

"  What  an  awful  thing  is  this  !  "  cried  they. 

A  shriek,  too  fearfully  distinct  for  doubt,  had  been 
heard  within  the  mansion,  breaking  forth  suddenly, 
and  succeeded  by  a  deep  stillness,  as  if  a  heart  had 
burst  in  giving  it  utterance.  The  people  knew  not 
whether  to  fly  from  the  very  sight  of  the  house,  or 
to  rush  trembling  in,  and  search  out  the  strange  mys- 
tery. Amid  their  confusion  and  affright,  they  were 
somewhat  reassured  by  the  appearance  of  their  cler- 
gyman, a  venerable  patriarch,  and  equally  a  saint, 
who  had  taught  them  and  their  fathers  the  way  to 
heaven,  for  more  than  the  space  of  an  ordinary  life- 
time. He  was  a  reverend  figure,  with  long,  white 
hair  upon  his  shoulders,  a  white  beard  upon  his  breast, 
and  a  back  so  bent  over  his  staff,  that  he  seemed  to 
be  looking  downward,  continually,  as  if  to  choose  a 
proper  grave  for  his  weary  frame.  It  was  some  time 
before  the  good  old  man,  being  deaf,  and  of  impaired 
intellect,  could  be  made  to  comprehend  such  portions 
of  the  affair  as  were  comprehensible  at  all.  But,  when 
possessed  of  the  facts,  his  energies  assumed  unexpected 
vigor. 

"  Verily,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  it  will  be  fitting 
that  I  enter  the  mansion-house  of  the  worthy  Colonel 
Fenwicke,  lest  any  harm  should  have  befallen  that 
true  Christian  woman,  whom  ye  call  the  'Old  Maid  in 
the  Winding-Sheet.' " 


THE   WHITE    OLD    MAID.  15$ 

Behold,  then,  the  venerable  clergyman  ascending  the 
steps  of  the  mansion,  with  a  torch -bearer  behind  him. 
It  was  the  elderly  man,  who  had  spoken  to  the  Old  Maid, 
and  the  same  who  had  afterwards  explained  the  shield 
of  arms,  and  recognized  the  features  of  the  negro.  Like 
their  predecessors,  they  gave  three  raps,  with  the  iron, 
hammer. 

"  Old  Caesar  cometh  not,"  observed  the  priest.  "  Well, 
I  wot,  he  no  longer  doth  service  in  this  mansion." 

"Assuredly,  then,  it  was  something  worse,  in  old 
Caesar's  likeness !  "  said  the  other  adventurer. 

"  Be  it  as  God  wills,"  answered  the  clergyman.  "  See !' 
my  strength,  though  it  be  much  decayed,  hath  sufficed 
to  open  this  heavy  door.  Let  us  enter,  and  pass  up  the 
staircase." 

Here  occurred  a  singular  exemplification  of  the  dreamy 
state  of  a  very  old  man's  mind.  As  they  ascended  the 
wide  flight  of  stairs,  the  aged  clergyman  appeared  to 
move  with  caution,  occasionally  standing  aside,  and  of- 
tener  bending  his  head,  as  it  were  in  salutation,  thus 
practising  all  the  gestures  of  one  who  makes  his  way 
through  a  throng.  Reaching  the  head  of  the  staircase, 
he  looked  around,  with  sad  and  solemn  benignity,  laid 
aside  his  staff,  bared  his  hoary  locks,  and  was  evidently 
on  the  point  of  commencing  a  prayer. 

"  Reverend  Sir,"  said  his  attendant,  who  conceived 
this  a  very  suitable  prelude  to  their  further  search, 
"  would  it  not  be  well,  that  the  people  join  with  us  in 
prayer  ?  " 

"  Well-a-day ! "  cried  the  old  clergyman,  staring 
strangely  around  him.  "  Art  thou  here  with  me,  and 
none  other  ?  Verily,  past  times  were  present  to  me, 
and  I  deemed  that  I  was  to  make  a  funeral  prayer,  as. 
many  a  time  heretofore,  from  the  head  of  this  staircase. 


160  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

Of  a  truth,  I  saw  the  shades  of  many  that  are  gone. 
Yea,  I  have  prayed  at  their  burials,  one  after  another, 
and  the  'Old  Maid  in  the  Winding-Sheet'  hath  seen 
them  to  their  graves  !  " 

Being  now  more  thoroughly  awake  to  their  present 
purpose,  he  took  his  staff,  and  struck  forcibly  on  the 
floor,  till  there  came  an  echo  from  each  deserted  cham- 
ber, but  no  menial,  to  answer  their  summons.  They 
therefore  walked  along  the  passage,  and  again  paused, 
opposite  to  the  great  front  window,  through  which  was 
seen  the  crowd,  in  the  shadow  and  partial  moonlight  of 
the  street  beneath.  On  their  right  hand  was  the  open 
door  of  a  chamber,  and  a  closed  one  on  their  left.  The 
clergyman  pointed  his  cane  to  the  carved  oak  panel  of  the 
latter. 

"  Within  that  chamber,"  observed  he,  "  a  whole  life- 
time since,  did  I  sit  by  the  death-bed  of  a  goodly  young 
man,  who,  being  now  at  the  last  gasp  —  " 

Apparently,  there  was  some  powerful  excitement  in 
the  ideas  which  had  now  flashed  across  his  mind.  He 
snatched  the  torch  from  his  companion's  hand,-  and 
threw  open  the  door  with  such  sudden  violence,  that  the 
flame  was  extinguished,  leaving  them  no  other  light 
than  the  moonbeams,  which  fell  through  two  windows 
into  the  spacious  chamber.  It  was  sufficient  to  dis- 
cover all  that  could  be  known.  In  a  high-backed  oaken 
arm-chair,  upright,  with  her  hands  clasped  across  her 
breast,  and  her  head  thrown  back,  sat  the  "Old  Maid 
in  the  Winding-Sheet."  The  stately  dame  had  fallen  on 
her  knees,  with  her  forehead  on  the  holy  knees  of  the 
Old  Maid,  one  hand  upon  the  floor,  and  the  other  pressed 
convulsively  against  her  heart.  It  clutched  a  lock  of 
hair,  once  sable,  now  discolored  with  a  greenish  mould. 
As  the  priest  and  layman  advanced  into  the  chamber,  the 


THE   WHITE    OLD    MAID.  161 

Old  Maid's  features  assumed  such  a  resemblance  of 
shifting  expression,  that  they  trusted  to  hear  the  whole 
mystery  explained,  by  a  single  word.  But  it  was  only 
the  shadow  of  a  tattered  curtain,  waving  betwixt  the  dead 
face  and  the  moonlight. 

"  Both  dead  !  "  said  the  venerable  man.  "Then  who 
shall  divulge  the  secret  ?  Methinks  it  glimmers  to  and 
fro  in  my  mind,  like  the  light  and  fehadow  across  the  Old 
Maid's  face.  And  now  't  is  gone !  " 


rfi^r  ^/^         v.» ^vcv^    >J> 

^x_ 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE. 

j|ND  so,  Peter,  you  won't  even  consider  of  the 
business  ? "  said  Mr.  John  Brown,  buttoning 
his  surtout  over  the  snug  rotundity  of  his  per- 
son, and  drawing  on  his  gloves.  "  You  positively  refuse 
to  let  me  have  this  crazy  old  house,  and  the  land  under 
and  adjoining,  at  the  price  named  ?  " 

"Neither  at  that,  nor  treble  the  sum,"  responded 
the  gaunt,  grizzled,  and  threadbare  Peter  Goldthwaite. 
"The  fact  is,  Mr.  Brown,  you  must  find  another  site 
for  your  brick  block,  and  be  content  to  leave  my  estate 
with  the  present  owner.  Next  summer,  I  intend  to 
put  a  splendid  new  mansion  over  the  cellar  of  the  old 
house." 

"Pho,  Peter!"  cried  Mr.  Brown,  as  he  opened  the 
kitchen-door ;  "  content  yourself  with  building  castles  in 
the  air,  where  house-lots  are  cheaper  than  on  earth,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  cost  of  bricks  and  mortar.  Such 
foundations  are  solid  enough  for  your  edifices ;  while  this 
underneath  us  is  just  the  thing  for  mine  ;  and  so  we  may 
both  be  suited.  What  say  you,  again  ?  " 

"Precisely  what  I  said  before,  Mr.  Brown,"  answered 
Peter  Goldthwaite.  "  And,  as  for  castles  in  the  air, 
mine  may  not  be  as  magnificent  as  that  sort  of  architec- 
ture, but  perhaps  as  substantial,  Mr.  Brown,  as  the  very 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.    163 

respectable  brick  block  with  dry-goods  stores,  tailors' 
shops,  and  banking-rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  and  law- 
yers' offices  in  the  second  story,  which  you  are  so  anxious 
to  substitute." 

"  And  the  cost,  Peter,  eh  ?  "  said  Mr.  Brown,  as  he 
withdrew,  in  something  of  a  pet.  "  That,  I  suppose,  will 
be  provided  for,  offhand,  by  drawing  a  check  on  Bubble 
Bank !  " 

John  Brown  and  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  been  jointly 
known  to  the  commercial  world  between  twenty  and 
thirty  years  before,  under  the  firm  of  Goldthwaite  & 
Brown ;  which  copartnership,  however,  was  speedily  dis- 
solved, by  the  natural  incongruity  of  its  constituent  parts. 
Since  that  event,  John  Brown,  Avith  exactly  the  qualities 
of  a  thousand  other  John  Browns,  and  by  just  such  plod- 
ding methods  as  they  used,  had  prospered  wonderfully, 
and  become  one  of  the  wealthiest  John  Browns  on  earth. 
Peter  Goldthwaite,  on  the  contrary,  after  innumerable 
schemes,  which  ought  to  have  collected  all  the  coin  and 
paper  currency  of  the  country  into  his  coffers,  was  as  needy 
a  gentleman  as  ever  wore  a  patch  upon  his  elbow.  The 
contrast  between  him  and  his  former  partner  may  be  briefly 
marked,  for  Brown  never  reckoned  upon  luck,  yet  always 
had  it ;  while  Peter  made  luck  the  main  condition  of  his 
projects,  and  always  missed  it.  While  the  means  held  out 
his  speculations  had  been  magnificent,  but  were  chiefly 
confined,  of  late  years,  to  such  small  business  as  adven- 
tures in  the  lottery.  Once,  he  had  gone  on  a  gold-gather- 
ing expedition,  somewhere  to  the  South,  and  ingeniously 
contrived  to  empty  his  pockets  more  thoroughly  than 
ever;  while  others,  doubtless,  were  filling  theirs  with 
native  bullion  by  the  handful.  More  recently  he  had 
expended  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  or  two  of  dollars  iu 
purchasing  Mexican  scrip,  and  thereby  became  the  pro- 


164  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

prietor  of  a  province;  which,  however,  so  far  as  Peter 
could  find  out,  was  situated  where  he  might  have  had  an 
empire  for  the  same  money,  —  in  the  clouds.  From  a 
search  after  this  valuable  real  estate,  Peter  returned  so 
gaunt  and  threadbare,  that,  on  reaching  New  England, 
the  scarecrows  in  the  cornfields  beckoned  to  him,  as  he 
passed  by.  "  They  did  but  nutter  in  the  wind,"  quoth 
Peter  Goldthwaite.  No,  Peter,  they  beckoned,  for  the 
scarecrows  knew  their  brother ! 

At  the  period  of  our  story,  his  whole  visible  income 
would  not  have  paid  the  tax  of  the  old  mansion  in  which 
we  find  him.  It  was  one  of  those  rusty,  moss-grown,, 
many-peaked  wooden  houses,  which  are  scattered  about 
the  streets  of  our  elder  towns,  with  a  beetle-browed 
second  story  projecting  over  the  foundation,  as  if  it 
frowned  at  the  novelty  around  it.  This  old  paternal  ed- 
ifice, needy  as  he  was,  and  though,  being  centrally  situated 
on  the  principal  street  of  the  town,  it  would  have  brought 
him  a  handsome  sum,  the  sagacious  Peter  had  his  own 
reasons  for  never  parting  with,  either  by  auction  or  pri- 
vate sale.  There  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  a  fatality  that 
connected  him  with  his  birthplace ;  for,  often  as  he  had 
stood  OH  the  verge  of  ruin,  and  standing  there  even  uow> 
he  had  not  yet  taken  the  step  beyona  it,  which  would  have 
compelled  him  to  surrender  the  house  to  his  creditors. 
So  here  he  dwelt  with  bad  luck  till  good  should  come. 

Here,  then,  in  his  kitchen,  the  only  room  where  a 
spark  of  fire  took  off  the  chfll  of  a  November  evening, 
poor  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  just  been  visited  by  his  rich 
old  partner.  At  the  close  of  their  interview,  Peter,  with 
rather  a  mortified  look,  glanced  downwards  at  his  dress, 
parts  of  which  appeared  as  ancient  as  the  days  of  Gold- 
thwaite &  Brown.  His  upper  garment  was  a  mixed  sur- 
tout,  wofully  faded,  and  patched  with  newer  stuff  on 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.    185 

<each  elbow ;  beneath  this,  he  wore  a  threadbare  black 
coat,  some  of  the  silk  buttons  of  which  had  been  replaced 
with  others  of  a  different  pattern  ;  and  lastly,  though  he 
lacked  not  a  pair  of  gray  pantaloons,  they  were  very 
shabby  ones,  and  had  been  partially  turned  brown,  by 
i  •  I'ivquent  toasting  of  Peter's  shins  before  a  scanty  fire. 
Peter's  person  was  in  keeping  with  his  goodly  apparel. 
Gray -headed,  hollow-eyed,  pale-cheeked,  and  lean-bodied, 
lie  was  the  perfect  picture  of  a  man  who  had  fed  on  windy 
schemes  and  empty  hopes  till  he  could  neither  live  on 
such  uu wholesome  trash  nor  stomach  more  substantial 
food.  But,  withal,  this  Peter  Goldthwaite,  crackbrained 
simpleton  as,  perhaps,  he  was,  might  have  cut  a  very 
brilliant  figure  in  the  world,  had  he  employed  his  imagi- 
nation in  the  airy  business  of  poetry,  instead  of  making 
it  a  demon  of  mischief  in  mercantile  pursuits.  After  all, 
he  was  no  bad  fellow,  but  as  harmless  as  a  child  and  as 
honest  and  honorable,  and  as  much  of  the  gentleman 
which  nature  meant  him  for,  as  an  irregular  life  and  de- 
pressed circumstances  will  permit  any  man  to  be.  v 

As  Peter  stood  on  the  uneven  bricks  of  his  hearth, 
looking  round  at  the  disconsolate  old  kitchen,  his  eyes 
began  to  kindle  with  the  illumination  of  an  enthusiasm 
that  never  long  deserted  him.  He  raised  his  hand, 
clinched  it,  and  smote  it  energetically  against  the  smoky 
panel  over  the  fireplace. 

"  The  time  is  come  !  "  said  he.  "  With  such  a  treas- 
ure at  command,  it  were  folly  to  be  a  poor  man  any 
longer.  To-morrow  morning  I  will  begin  with  the  gar- 
ivl,  nor  desist  till  I  have  torn  the  house  down  !  " 

Deep  in  the  chimney-corner,  like  a  witch  in  a  dark 
cavern,  sat  a  little  old  woman,  mending  one  of  the  two 
pairs  of  stockings  wherewith  Peter  Goldthwaite  kept  his 
•toes  from  being  frost-bitten.  As  the  feet  were  ragged 


166  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

past  all  darning,  she  had  cut  pieces  out  of  a  cast-off  flan- 
nel petticoat,  to  make  new  soles.  Tabitha  Porter  was 
an  old  maid,  upwards  of  sixty  years  of  age,  fifty-five  of 
which  she  had  sat  in  that  same  chimney-corner,  such 
being  the  length  of  time  since  Peter's  grandfather  had 
taken  her  from  the  almshouse.  She  had  no  friend  but 
Peter,  nor  Peter  any  friend  but  Tabitha;  so  long  as 
Peter  might  have  a  shelter  for  his  own  head,  Tabitha 
would  know  where  to  shelter  hers ;  or,  being  homeless 
elsewhere,  she  would  take  her  master  by  the  hand,  and 
bring  him  to  her  native  home,  the  almshouse.  Should  it 
ever  be  necessary,  she  loved  him  well  enough  to  feed  him 
with  her  last  morsel,  and  clothe  him  with  her  under- 
petticoat.  But  Tabitha  was  a  queer  old  woman,  and, 
though  never  infected  with  Peter's  flightiness,  had  be- 
come so  accustomed  to  his  freaks  and  follies,  that  she- 
viewed  them  all  as  matters  of  course.  Hearing  him. 
threaten  to  tear  the  house  down,  she  looked  quietly  up 
from  her  work. 

"  Best  leave  the  kitchen  till  the  last,  Mr.  Peter,"  said 
she. 

"The  sooner  we  have  it  all  down  the  better,"  said 
Peter  Goldthwaite.  "  I  am  tired  to  death  of  living  in 
this  cold,  dark,  windy,  smoky,  creaking,  groaning, 
dismal  old  house.  I  shall  feel  like  a  younger  man, 
when  we  get  into  my  splendid  brick  mansion,  as, 
please  Heaven,  we  shall,  by  this  time  next  autumn. 
You  shall  have  a  room  on  the  sunny  side,  old  Tabby, 
finished  and  furnished  as  best  may  suit  your  own  no- 
tions." 

"I  should  like  it  pretty  much  such  a  room  as  this 
kitchen,"  answered  Tabitha.  "  It  will  never  be  like 
home  to  me,  till  the  chimney-corner  gets  as  black  with 
smoke  as  this ;  and  that  won't  be  these  hundred  years. 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.    167 

How  much  do  you  mean  to  lay  out  on  the  house,  Mr. 
Peter  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  the  purpose  ?  "  exclaimed  Peter, 
loftily.  "  Did  not  my  great-grand-uncle,  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite,  who  died  seventy  years  ago,  and  whose  name- 
sake I  am,  leave  treasure  enough  to  build  twenty 
such  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  but  he  did,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  Tabitha, 
threading  her  needle. 

Tabitha  well  understood  that  Peter  had  reference 
to  an  immense  hoard  of  the  precious  metals,  which 
was  said  to  exist  somewhere  in  the  cellar  or  walls,  or 
under  the  floors,  or  in  some  concealed  closet,  or  other 
out-of-the-way  nook  of  the  house.  This  wealth,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  had  been  accumulated  by  a  former 
Peter  Goldthwaite,  whose  character  seems  to  have  borne 
a  remarkable  similitude  to  that  of  the  Peter  of  our  story. 
Like  him,  he  was  a  wild  projector,  seeking  to  heap  up 
gold  by  the  bushel  and  the  cartload,  instead  of  scraping- 
it  together,  coin  by  coin.  Like  Peter  the  second,  too, 
his  projects  had  almost  invariably  failed,  and,  but  for  the 
magnificent  success  of  the  final  one,  would  have  left  him 
with  hardly  a  coat  and  pair  of  breeches  to  his  gaunt  and 
grizzled  person.  Reports  were  various  as  to  the  nature 
of  his  fortunate  speculation ;  one  intimating  that  the 
ancient  Peter  had  made  the  gold  by  alchemy;  another, 
that  he  had  conjured  it  out  of  people's  pockets  by  the 
black  art ;  and  a  third,  still  more  unaccountable,  that  the 
Devil  had  given  him  free  access  to  the  old  provincial 
treasury.  It  was  affirmed,  however,  that  some  secret 
impediment  had  debarred  him  from  the  enjoyment  of  his- 
riches,  and  that  he  had  a  motive  for  concealing  them 
from  his  heir,  or,  at  any  rate,  had  died  without  disclos- 
ing the  place  of  deposit.  The  present  Peter's  father  had 


168  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

faith  enough  in  the  story  to  cause  the  cellar  to  be  dug- 
over.  Peter  himself  chose  to  consider  the  legend  as  an 
indisputable  truth,  and,  amid,  his  many  troubles,  had 
this  one  consolation,  that,  should  all  other  resources  fail, 
he  might  build  up  his  fortunes  by  tearing  his  house 
down.  Yet,  unless  he  felt  a  lurking  distrust  of  the  golden 
tale,  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  his  permitting  the  paternal 
roof  to  stand  so  long,  since  he  had  never  yet  seen  the 
moment  when  his  predecessor's  treasure  would  not  have 
found  plenty  of  room  iu.  his  own  strong-box.  But,  now 
was  the  crisis.  Should  he  delay  the  search  a  little  longer, 
the  house  would  pass  from  the  lineal  heir,  and  with  it 
the  vast  heap  of  gold,  to  remain  in  its  burial-place,  till 
the  ruin  of  the  aged  walls  should  discover  it  to  strangers 
of  a  future  generation. 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Peter  Goldthwaite,  again ;  "  to-morrow 
I  will  set  about  it." 

The  deeper  he  looked  at  the  matter,  the  more  certain 
of  success  grew  Peter.  His  spirits  were  naturally  so 
elastic,  that  even  now,  in  the  blasted  autumn  of  his  age, 
he  could  often  compete  with  the  spring-time  gayety  of 
other  people.  Enlivened  by  his  brightening  prospects, 
he  began  to  caper  about  the  kitchen  like  a  hobgoblin, 
with  the  queerest  antics  of  his  lean  limbs,  and  gesticula- 
tions of  his  starved  features.  Nay,  in  the  exuberance  of 
his  feelings,  he  seized  both  of  Tabitha's  hands,  and  danced 
the  old  lady  across  the  floor,  till  the  oddity  of  her  rheu- 
matic motions  set  him  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  which  was 
echoed  back  from  the  rooms  and  chambers,  as  if  Peter 
Goldthwaite  were  laughing  in  every  one.  Finally,  he 
bounded  upward,  almost  out  of  sight,  into  the  smoke 
that  clouded  the  roof  of  the  kitchen,  and  alighting  safely 
on  the  floor  again,  endeavored  to  resume  his  customary 
gravity. 


PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREASURE.    169 

"  To-morrow,  at  sunrise,"  he  repeated,  taking  his  lamp, 
to  retire  to  bed,  "  I  '11  see  whether  this  treasure  be  hid  in 
the  wall  of  the  garret." 

"  And,  as  we  're  out  of  wood,  Mr.  Peter,"  said  Tabitha, 
puffing  and  panting  with  her  late  gymnastics,  "  as  fast 
as  you  tear  the  house  down,  I  '11  make  a  fire  with  the 
pieces." 

Gorgeous,  that  night,  were  the  dreams  of  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite  !  At  one  time  he  was  turning  a  ponderous  key 
in  an  iron  door,  not  unlike  the  door  of  a  sepulchre,  but 
•which,  being  opened,  disclosed  a  vault,  heaped  up  with 
gold  coin,  as  plentifully  as  golden  corn  in  a  granary. 
There  were  chased  goblets,  also,  and  tureens,  salvers, 
dinner-dishes,  and  dish-covers,  of  gold,  or  silver-gilt, 
besides  chains  and  other  jewels  incalculably  rich,  though 
tarnished  with  the  damps  of  the  vault;  for,  of  all  the 
wealth  that  was  irrevocably  lost  to  man,  whether  buried 
in  the  earth,  or  sunken  in  the  sea,  Peter  Goldthwaite 
had  found  it  in  this  one  treasure-place.  Auon,  he  had 
returned  to  the  old  house,  as  poor  as  ever,  and  was 
received  at  the  door,  by  the  gaunt  and  grizzled  figure  of 
a  man,  whom  he  might  have  mistaken  for  himself,  only 
that  his  garments  were  of  a  much  elder  fashion.  But 
the  house,  without  losing  its  former  aspect,  had  been 
changed  into  a  palace  of  the  precious  metals.  The  floors, 
walls,  and  ceilings  were  of  burnished  silver ;  the  doors, 
the  window-frames,  the  cornices,  the  balustrades,  and  the 
steps  of  the  staircase,  of  pure  gold ;  and  silver,  with  gold 
bottoms,  were  the  chairs,  and  gold,  standing  on  .silver 
iegs,  the  high  chests  of  drawers,  and  silver  the  bedsteads, 
with  blankets  of  woven  gold,  and  sheets  of  silver  tissue. 
The  house  had  evidently  been  transmuted  by  a  single 
touch ;  for  it  retained  all  the  marks  that  Peter  remem- 
ibered,  but  in  gold  or  silver,  instead  of  wood;  and  the 

VOL.  II.  8 


170  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

initials  of  his  name,  which,  when  a  boy,  he  had  cut  in 
the  wooden  doorpost,  remained  as  deep  in  the  pillar  of 
gold.  A  happy  man  would  have  been  Peter  Goldthwaite, 
except  for  a  certain  ocular  deception,  which,  whenever 
he  glanced  backward,  caused  the  house  to  darken  from 
its  glittering  magnificence  into  the  sordid  gloom  of  yes- 
terday. 

Up,  betimes,  rose  Peter,  seized  an  axe,  hammer,  and 
saw,  which  he  had  placed  by  his  bedside,  and  hied  him 
to  the  garret.  It  was  but  scantily  lighted  up,  as  yet,  by 
the  frosty  fragments  of  a  sunbeam,  which  began  to  glim- 
mer through  the  almost  opaque  bull's  eyes  of  the  window. 
A  moralizer  might  find  abundant  themes  for  his  specula- 
tive and  impracticable  wisdom  in  a  garret.  There  is  the 
limbo  of  departed  fashions,  aged  trifles  of  a  day,  and 
whatever  was  valuable  only  to  one  generation  of  men,, 
and  which  passed  to  the  garret  when  that  generation 
passed  to  the  grave,  not  for  safe-keeping,  but  to  be  out 
of  the  way.  Peter  saw  piles  of  yellow  and  musty 
account-books,  in  parchment  covers,  wherein  creditors, 
long  dead  and  buried,  had  written  the  names  of  dead 
and  buried  debtors,  in  ink  now  so  faded,  that  their  moss- 
grown  tombstones  were  more  legible.  He  found  old 
moth-eaten  garments  all  in  rags  and  tatters,  or  Peter 
would  have  put  them  on.  Here  was  a  naked  and  rusty 
sword,  not  a  sword  of  service,  but  a  gentleman's  small 
French  rapier,  which  had  never  left  its  scabbard  till  it 
lost  it.  Here  were  canes  of  twenty  different  sorts,  but 
no  gold-headed  ones,  and  shoe-buckles  of  various  pattern 
and  material,  but  not  silver,  nor  set  with  precious  stones. 
Here  was  a  large  box  full  of  shoes,  with  high  heels  and 
peaked  toes.  Here,  on  a  shelf,  were  a  multitude  of 
phials,  half  filled  with  old  apothecaries'  stuff,  which, 
when  the  other  half  had  done  its  business  on  Peter's 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.         171 

ancestors,  had  been  brought  hither  from  the  death-cham- 
ber. Here  —  not  to  give  a  longer  inventory  of  articles 
that  will  never  be  put  up  at  auction  —  was  the  fragment 
of  a  full-length  looking-glass,  which,  by  the  dust  and 
dimness  of  its  surface,  made  the  picture  of  these  old 
things-  look  older  than  the  reality.  When  Peter,  not 
knowing  that  there  was  a  mirror  there,  caught  the  faint 
traces  of  his  own  figure,  he  partly  imagined  that  the 
former  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  come  back,  either  to  assist 
or  impede  his  search  for  the  hidden  wealth.  And  at  that 
moment  a  strange  notion  glimmered  through  his  brain, 
that  he  was  the  identical  Peter  who  had  concealed  the 
gold,  and  ought  to  know  whereabout  it  lay.  This,  how- 
ever, he  had  unaccountably  forgotten. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Peter !  "  cried  Tabitha,  on  the  garret  stairs. 
"  Have  you  torn  the  house  down  enough  to  heat  the  tea- 
kettle ?  " 

"Not  yet,  old  Tabby,"  answered  Peter;  "but  that's 
soon  done,  as  you  shall  see." 

With  the  word  in  his  mouth,  he  uplifted  the  axe,  and 
laid  about  him  so  vigorously,  that  the  dust  flew,  the 
boards  crashed,  and,  in  a  twinkling,  the  old  woman  had 
an  apronful  of  broken  rubbish. 

"We  shall  get  our  winter's  wood  cheap,"  quoth 
Tabitha. 

The  good  work  being  thus  commenced,  Peter  beat 
down  all  before  him,  smiting  and  hewing  at  the  joists 
and  timbers,  unclinching  spike-nails,  ripping  and  tearing 
away  boards,  with  a  tremendous  racket,  from  morning 
till  night.  He  took  care,  however,  to  leave  the  outside 
shell  of  the  house  untouched,  so  that  the  neighbors  might 
not  suspect  what  was  going  on. 

Never,  in  any  of  his  vagaries,  though  each  had  made 
him  happy  while  it  lasted,  hud  Peter  bf"n  happier  than. 


172  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

now.  Perhaps,  after  all,  there  was  something  in  Peter 
Goldthwaite's  turn  of  mind,  which  brought  him  an  inward 
recompense  for  all  the  external  evil  that  it  caused.  If 
lie  were  poor,  ill-clad,  even  hungry,  and  exposed,  as  it 
\vcre,  to  be  utterly  annihilated  by  a  precipice  of  impend- 
ing ruin,  yet  only  his  body  remained  in  these  miserable 
circumstances,  while  his  aspiring  soul  enjoyed  the  sun- 
shine of  a  bright  futurity.  It  was  his  nature  to  be  always 
young,  and  the  tendency  of  his  mode  of  life  to  keep  him 
so.  Gray  hairs  were  nothing,  no,  nor  wrinkles,  nor  in- 
firmity; he  might  look  old,  indeed,  and  be- somewhat  disa- 
greeably connected  with  a  gaunt  old  figure,  much  the  worse 
for  wear ;  but  the  true,  the  essential  Peter  was  a  young 
man  of  high  hopes,  just  entering  on  the  world.  At  the 
kindling  of  each  new  fire,  his  burnt-out  youth  rose  afresh 
from  the  old  embers  and  ashes.  It  rose  exulting  now. 
Having  lived  thus  long  —  not  too  long,  but  just  to  the 
right  age  —  a  susceptible  bachelor,  with  warm  and  tender 
dreams,  he  resolved,  as  soon  as  the  hidden  gold  should 
flash  to  light,  to  go  a-wooing,  and  win  the  love  of  the 
fairest  maid  in  town.  What  heart  could  resist  him? 
Happy  Peter  Goldthwaite! 

Every  evening  —  as  Peter  had  long  absented  himself 
from  his  former  lounging-places,  at  insurance-offices, 
news-rooms,  and  bookstores,  and  as  the  honor  of  his' 
company  was  seldom  requested  in  private  circles  —  he 
and  Tabitha  used  to  sit  down  sociably  by  the  kitchen 
hearth.  This  was  always  heaped  plentifully  with  the 
rubbish  of  his  day's  labor.  As  the  foundation  of  the 
fire,  there  would  be  a  goodly  sized  backlog  of  red-oak, 
which,  after  being  sheltered  from  rain  or  damp  above  a 
century,  still  hissed  with  the  heat,  and  distilled  streams 
of  water  from  each  end,  as  if  the  tree  had  been  cut  down 
within  a  week  or  two.  Next,  there  were  large  sticks, 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.        173 

sound,  black,  and  heavy,  which  had  lost  the  principle  of 
decay,  and  were  indestructible  except  by  fire,  wherein 
they  glowed  like  red-hot  bars  of  iron.  On  this  solid 
basis,  Tabitha  would  rear  a  lighter  structure,  composed 
of  the  splinters  of  door-panels,  ornamented  mouldings, 
and  such  quick  combustibles,  which  caught  like  straw, 
and  threw  a  brilliant  blaze  high  up  the  spacious  flue, 
making  its  sooty  sides  visible  almost  to  the  chimney- 
top.  Meantime,  the  gleam  of  the  old  kitchen  would  be 
chased  out  of  the  cobwebbed  corners,  and  away  from  the 
dusky  crossbeams  overhead,  and  driven  nobody  could 
tell  whither,  while  Peter  smiled  like  a  gladsome  man,  and 
Tabitha  seemed  a  picture  of  comfortable  age.  All  this, 
of  course,  was  but  an  emblem  of  the  bright  fortune  which 
the  destruction  of  the  house  would  shed  upon  its  occu- 
pants. 

While  the  dry  pine  was  naming  and  crackling,  like  an 
irregular  discharge  of  fairy  musketry,  Peter  sat  looking 
and  listening,  in  a  pleasant  state  of  excitement.  But, 
when  the  brief  blaze  and  uproar  were  succeeded  by  the 
dark-red  glow,  the  substantial  heat,  and  the  deep  singing 
sound,  which  were  to  last  throughout  the  evening,  his 
humor  became  talkative.  One  night,  the  hundredth 
time,  he  teased  Tabitha  to  tell  him  something  new  about 
his  great -grand-uncle. 

"  You  have  been  sitting  in  that  chimney-corner  fifty- 
five  years,  old  Tabby,  and  must  have  heard  many  a  tra- 
dition about  him,"  said  Peter.  "  Did  not  you  tell  me, 
that,  when  you  first  came  to  the  house,  there  was  an 
old  woman  sitting  where  you  sit  now,  who  had  been 
housekeeper  to  the  famous  Peter  Goldthwaite  ?  " 

"  So  there  was,  Mr.  Peter,"  answered  Tabitha ;  "  and 
she  was  near  about  a  hundred  years  old.  She  used  to 
say  that  she  and  old  Peter  Goldthwaite  had  often  spent 


174  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

a  sociable  evening  by  the  kitchen  fire,  —  pretty  much  as 
you  and  I  are  doing  now,  Mr.  Peter." 

"The  old  fellow  must  have  resembled  me  in  more 
points  than  one,"  said  Petev,  complacently,  "  or  he  never 
•would  have  grown  so  rich.  But,  methinks,  he  might 
have  invested  the  money  better  than  he  did,  —  no  in- 
terest !  —  nothing  but  good  security  !  —  and  the  house 
to  be  torn  down  to  come  at  it !  What  made  him  hide 
it  so  snug,  Tabby  ?  " 

"  Because  he  could  not  spend  it,"  said  Tabitha ;  "  for, 
as  often  as  he  went  to  unlock  the  chest,  the  Old  Scratch 
•came  behind  and  caught  his  arm.  The  money,  they  say, 
was  paid  Peter  out  of  his  purse  ;  and  he  wanted  Peter 
to  give  him  a  deed  of  this  house  and  land,  which  Peter 
.swore  he  would  not  do." 

"  Just  as  I  swore  to  John  Brown,  my  old  partner," 
remarked  Peter.  "  But  this  is  all  nonsense,  Tabby !  I 
don't  believe  the  story." 

"Well,  it  may  not  be  just  the  truth,"  said  Tabitha; 
"  for  some  folks  say,  that  Peter  did  make  over  the  house 
to  the  Old  Scratch  ;  and  that 's  the  reason  it  has  always 
been  so  unlucky  to  them  that  lived  in  it.  And  as  soon 
as  Peter  had  given  him  the  deed,  the  chest  flew  open, 
and  Peter  caught  up  a  handful  of  the  gold.  But,  lo  and 
behold  !  —  there  was  nothing  in  his  fist  but  a  parcel  of 
old  rags." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  silly  old  Tabby ! "  cried 
Peter,  in  great  wrath.  "They  were  as  good  golden 
guineas  as  ever  bore  the  effigies  of  the  king  of  Eng- 
land. It  seems  as  if  I  could  recollect  the  whole  cir- 
cumstance, and  how  I,  or  old  Peter,  or  whoever  it  was, 
thrust  in  my  hand,  or  his  hand,  and  drew  it  out,  all  of 
a  blaze  with  gold.  Old  rags,  indeed  !  " 

But  it  was  not  an  old  woman's  legend  that  would  dis- 


PETER  GOLDTHVVAITE'S  TREASURE.    175 

courage  Peter  Goldthwaite.  All  night  long,  he  slept 
among  pleasant  dreams,  and  awoke  at  daylight  with  a 
joyous  throb  of  the  heart,  which  few  are  fortunate 
enough  to  feel  beyond  their  boyhood.  Day  after  day, 
he  labored  hard,  without  wasting  a  moment,  except  at 
meal-times,  when  Tabitha  summoned  him  to  the  pork 
and  cabbage,  or  such  other  sustenance  as  she  had 
picked  up,  or  Providence  had  sent  them.  Being  a 
truly  pious  man,  Peter  never  failed  to  ask  a  blessing ; 
if  the  food  were  none  of  the  best,  then  so  much  the 
more  earnestly,  as  it  was  more  needed ;  —  nor  to  return 
thanks,  if  the  dinner  had  been  scanty,  yet  for  the  good 
appetite,  which  was  better  than  a  sick  stomach  at  a 
feast.  Then  did  he  hurry  back  to  his  toil,  and,  in  a 
moment,  was  lost  to  sight  in  a  cloud  of  dust  from  the 
old  walls,  though  sufficiently  perceptible  to  the  ear,  by 
the  clatter  which  he  raised  in  the  midst  of  it.  How  en- 
viable is  the  consciousness  of  being  usefully  employed ! 
Nothing  troubled  Peter ;  or  nothing  but  those  phan- 
toms of  the  mind,  which  seem  like  vague  recollections, 
yet  have  also  the  aspect  of  presentiments.  He  often 
paused,  with  his  axe  uplifted  in  the  air,  and  said  to 
himself,  "  Peter  Goldthwaite,  did  you  never  strike  this 
blow  before  ?  "  —  or,  "  Peter,  what  need  of  tearing  the 
whole  house  down?  Think,  a  little  while,  And  you 
will  remember  where  the  gold  is  hidden."  Days  and 
weeks  passed  on,  however,  without  any  remarkable  dis- 
covery. Sometimes,  indeed,  a  lean,  gray  rat  peeped 
forth  at  the  lean,  gray  man,  wondering  what  devil  had 
got  into  the  old  house,  which  had  always  been  so  peace- 
able till  now.  And,  occasionally,  Peter  sympathized  with 
the  sorrows  of  a  female  mouse,  who  had  brought  five  or 
six  pretty,  little,  soft,  and  delicate  young  ones  into  the 
world,  just  in  time  to  see  them  crushed  by  its  ruin. 
But,  as  yet,  no  treasure ! 


176  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

By  this  time,  Peter,  being  as  determined  as  Fate,  and 
as  diligent  as  Time,  had  made  an  end  with  the  uppermost 
regions,  and  got  down  to  the  second  story,  where  he  was 
busy  in  one  of  the  front  chambers.  It  had  formerly  been 
•  the  state  bedchamber,  and  was  honored  by  tradition  as 
the  sleeping-apartment  of  Governor  Dudley  and  many 
other  eminent  guests.  The  furniture  was  gone.  There 
were  remnants  of  faded  and  tattered  paper-hangings,  but 
larger  spaces  of  bare  wall,  ornamented  with  charcoal 
sketches,  chiefly  of  people's  heads  in  profile.  These  be- 
ing specimens  of  Peter's  youthful  genius,  it  went  more 
to  his  heart  to  obliterate  them,  than  if  they  had  been 
pictures  on  a  church-wall  by  Michael  Angelo.  One 
sketch,  however,  and  that  the  best  one,  affected  him 
differently.  It  represented  a  ragged  man,  partly  sup- 
porting himself  on  a  spade,  and  bending  his  lean  body 
over  a  hole  in  the  earth,  with  one  hand  extended  to  grasp 
something  that  he  had  found.  But,  close  behind  him, 
with  a  fiendish  laugh  on  his  features,  appeared  a  figure 
with  horns,  a  tufted  tail,  and  a  cloven  hoof. 

"  Avaunt,  Satan !  "  cried  Peter.  "  The  man  shall  have 
his  gold ! " 

Uplifting  his  axe,  he  hit  the  horned  gentleman  such  a 
blow  on  the  head,  as  not  only  demolished  him,  but  the 
treasure-seeker  also,  and  caused  the  whole  scene  to  van- 
ish like  magic.  Moreover,  his  axe  broke  quite  through 
the  plaster  and  laths,  and  discovered  a  cavity. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Mr.  Peter,  are  you  quarrelling  with  the 
Old  Scratch  ?  "  said  Tabitha,  who  was  seeking  some  fuel 
to  put  under  the  dinner-pot. 

Without  answering  the  old  woman,  Peter  broke  down 
a  further  space  of  the  wall,  and  laid  open  a  small  closet 
or  cupboard,  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  about  breast 
high  from  the  ground.  It  contained  nothing  but  a  brass 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.         177 

lamp,  covered  with  verdigris,  and  a  dusty  piece  of  parch- 
ment. While  Peter  inspected  the  latter,  Tabitha  seized 
the  lamp,  and  began  to  rub  it  with  her  apron. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  rubbing  it,  Tabitha,"  said  Peter. 
"  It  is  not  Aladdin's  lamp,  though  I  take  it  to  be  a  token 
of  as  much  luck.  Look  here,  Tabby  !  " 

Tabitha  took  the  parchment  and  held  it  close  to  her 
nose,  which  was  saddled  with  a  pair  of  iron-bound  spec- 
tacles. But  no  sooner  had  she  begun  to  puzzle  over  it, 
than  she  burst  into  a  chuckling  laugh,  holding  both  her 
hands  against  her  sides. 

"  You  can't  make  a  fool  of  the  old  woman ! "  cried  she. 
"  This  is  your  own  handwriting,  Mr.  Peter !  the  same  as 
in  the  letter  you  sent  me  from  Mexico." 

"There  is  certainly  a  considerable  resemblance,"  said 
Peter,  again  examining  the  parchment.  "  But  you  know 
yourself,  Tabby,  that  this  closet  must  have  been  plastered 
up  before  you  came  to  the  house,  or  I  came  into  the 
world.  No,  this  is  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  writing; 
these  columns  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence  are  his 
figures,  denoting  the  amount  of  the  treasure ;  and  this, 
at  the  bottom,  is  doubtless  a  reference  to  the  place  of 
concealment.  But  the  ink  has  either  faded  or  peeled  off, 
so  that  it  is  absolutely  illegible.  What  a  pity  !  " 

"  Well,  this  lamp  is  as  good  as  new.  That 's  some 
comfort,"  said  Tabitha. 

"  A  lamp  !  "  thought  Peter.  "  That  indicates  light  on 
my  researches." 

For  the  present,  Peter  felt  more  inclined  to  ponder  on 
this  discovery;  than  to  resume  his  labors.  After  Tabitha 
had  gone  down  stairs,  he  stood  poring  over  the  parch- 
ment, at  one  of  the  front  .windows,  which  was  so  obscured 
with  dust,  that  the  sun  could  barely  throw  an  uncertain 
shadow  of  the  casement  across  the  floor.  Peter  forced  it 


178  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

open,  and  looked  out  upon  the  great  street  of  the  town-, 
while  the  sun  looked  in  at  his  old  house.  The  air, 
though  mild  and  even  warm,  thrilled  Peter  as  with  a 
dash  of  water.  . 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  January  thaw.  The  snow 
lay  deep  upon  the  house-tops,  but  was  rapidly  dissolving 
into  millions  of  water-drops,  which  sparkled  downwards 
through  the  sunshine,  with  the  noise  of  a  summer  shower 
beneath  the  eaves.  Along  the  street,  the  trodden  snow 
was  as  hard  and  solid  as  a  pavement  of  white  marble,  and 
had  not  yet  grown  moist  in  the  spring-like  temperature. 
Bflt,  when  Peter  thrust  forth  his  head,  he  saw  that  the 
inhabitants,  if  not  the  town,  were  already  thawed  out 
by  this  warm  day,  after  two  or  three  weeks  of  winter 
weather.  It  gladdened  him  —  a  gladness  with  a  sigh 
breathing  through  it  —  to  see  the  stream  of  ladies, 
gliding  along  the  slippery  sidewalks  with  their  red  cheeks 
set  off  by  quilted  hoods,  boas,  and  sable  capes,  like  roses 
amidst  a  new  kind  of  foliage.  The  sleigh-bells  jingled  to 
and  fro  continually,  sometimes  announcing  the  arrival  of 
a  sleigh  from  Vermont,  laden  with  the  frozen  bodies  of 
porkers,  or  sheep,  and  perhaps  a  deer  or  two ;  sometimes 
of  a  regular  market-man,  with  chickens,  geese,  and  tur- 
keys, comprising  the  whole  colony  of  a  barn-yard ;  and 
sometimes  of  a  farmer  and  his  dame,  who  had  come  to- 
town  partly  for  the  ride,  partly  to  go  a-shopping,  and 
partly  for  the  sale  of  some  eggs  and  butter.  This  couple 
rode  in  an  old-fashioned  square  sleigh,  wliich  had  served 
them  twenty  winters,  and  stood  twenty  summers  in  the 
sun  beside  their  door.  Now,  a  gentleman  and  lady 
skimmed  the  snow,  in  an  elegant  car,  shaped  somewhat 
like  a  cockle-shell.  Now,  a  stage-sleigh,  with  its  cloth 
curtains  thrust  aside  to  admit  the  sun,  dashed  rapidly 
down  the  street,  whirling  in  and  out  among  the  vehicles 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.        179' 

that  obstructed  its  passage.  Now  came  round  a  corner 
the  similitude  of  Noah's  ark,  on  runners,  being  an  im- 
mense open  sleigh,  with  seats  for  fifty  people,  and  drawn 
by  a  dozen  horses.  This  spacious  receptacle  was  populous 
with  merry  maids  and  merry  bachelors,  merry  girls  and 
boys,  and  merry  old  folks,  all  alive  with  fun,  and  grinning 
to  the  full  width  of  their  mouths.  They  kept  up  a  buzz 
of  babbling  voices  and  low  laughter,  and  sometimes  burst 
into  a  deep,  joyous  shout,  which  the  spectators  answered 
with  three  cheers,  while  a  gang  of  roguish  boys  let  drive 
their  snowballs  right  among  the  pleasure-party.  The 
sleigh  passed  on,  and,  when  concealed  by  a  bend  of 
the  street,  was  still  audible  by  a  distant  cry  of  merri- 
ment. 

Never  had  Peter  beheld  a  livelier  scene  than  was  con- 
stituted by  all  these  accessories :  the  bright  sun ;  the 
flashing  water-drops;  the  gleaming  snow;  the  cheerful 
multitude  ;  the  variety  of  rapid  vehicles ;  and  the  jingle- 
jangle  of  merry  bells,  which  made  the  heart  dance  to< 
their  music.  Nothing  dismal  was  to  be  seen,  except  that 
peaked  piece  of  antiquity,  Peter  Goldthwaite's  house, 
which  might  well  look  sad  externally,  since  such  a  terri- 
ble consumption  was  preying  on  its  insides.  And  Peter's 
gaunt  figure,  half  visible  in  the  projecting  second  story, 
was  worthy  of  his  house. 

"  Peter !  H6w  goes  it,  friend  Peter !  "  cried  a  voice 
across  the  street,  as  Peter  was  drawing  in  his  head. 
"  Look  out  here,  Peter  !  " 

Peter  looked,  and  saw  his  old  partner,  Mr.  John  Brown, 
on  the  opposite  sidewalk,  portly  and  comfortable,  with  his 
furred  cloak  thrown  open,  disclosing  a  handsome  surtout 
beneath.  His  voice  had  directed  the  attention  of  the 
whole  town  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's  window,  and  to  the- 
dusty  scarecrow  which  appeared  at  it. 


180  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"I  say,  Peter,"  cried  Mr.  Brown  again,  "what  the 
devil  are  you  about  there,  that  I  hear  such  a  racket, 
whenever  I  pass  by  ?  You  are  repairing  the  old  house, 
I  suppose,  —  making  a  new  one  of  it,  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Too  late  for  that,  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Brown,"  replied 
Peter.  "  If  I  make  it  new,  it  will  be  new  inside  and  out, 
from  the  cellar  upwards." 

"  Had  not  you  better  let  me  take  the  job  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Brown,  significantly. 

"  Not  yet !  "  answered  Peter,  hastily  shutting  the  win- 
dow ;  for,  ever  since  he  had  been  in  search  of  the  treas- 
ure, he  hated  to  have  people  stare  at  him. 

As  he  drew  back,  ashamed  of  his  outward  poverty,  yet 
proud  of  the  secret  wealth  within  his  grasp,  a  haughty 
smile  shone  out  on  Peter's  visage,  with  precisely  the 
effect  of  the  dim  sunbeams  in  the  squalid  chamber.  He 
endeavored  to  assume  such  a  mien  as  his  ancestor  had 
probably  worn,  when  he  gloried  in  the  building  of  a 
strong  house  for  a  home  to  many  generations  of  his  pos- 
terity. But  the  chamber  was  very  dark  to  his  snow- 
dazzled  eyes,  and  very  dismal  too,  in  contrast  with  the 
living  scene  that  he  had  just  looked  upon.  His  brief 
glimpse  into  the  street  had  given  him  a  forcible  impres- 
sion of  the  manner  in  which  the  world  kept  itself  cheer- 
ful and  prosperous,  by  social  pleasures  and  an  intercourse 
of  business,  while  he,  in  seclusion,  was  pursuing  an  object 
that  might  possibly  be  a  phantasm,  by  a  method  which 
most  people  would  call  madness.  It  is  one  great  advan- 
tage of  a  gregarious  mode  of  life,  that  each  person  recti- 
fies his  mind  by  other  minds,  and  squares  his  conduct  to 
that  of  his  neighbors,  so  as  seldom  to  be  lost  in  eccentricity. 
Peter  Goldthwaite  had  exposed  himself  to  this  influence, 
by  merely  looking  out  of  the  window.  For  a  while,  he 
doubted  whether  there  were  any  hidden  chest  of  gold, 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.        181 

and,  in  that  case,  whether  it  was  so  exceedingly  wise  to 
tear  the  house  down,  only  to  be  convinced  of  its  non- 
existence. 

But  this  was  momentary.  Peter,  the  Destroyer,  re- 
sumed the  task  which  fate  had  assigned  him,  nor  faltered 
again,  till  it  was  accomplished.  In  the  course  of  his 
search,  he  met  with  many  things  that  are  usually  found 
in  the  ruins  of  an  old  house,  and  also  with  some  that  are 
not.  What  seemed  most  to  the  purpose  was  a  rusty  key, 
which  had  been  thrust  into  a  chink  of  the  wall,  with  a 
wooden  label  appended  to  the  handle,  bearing  the  initials, 
P.  G.  Another  singular  discovery  was  that  of  a  bottle  of 
wine,  walled  up  in  an  old  oven.  A  tradition  ran  in  the 
family,  that  Peter's  grandfather,  a  jovial  officer  in  the  old 
French  war,  had  set  aside  many  dozens  of  the  precious 
liquor,  for  the  benefit  of  topers  then  unborn.  Peter 
needed  no  cordial  to  sustain  his  hopes,  and  therefore 
kept  the  wine  to  gladden  his  success.  Many  halfpence 
did  he  pick  up,  that  had  been  lost  through  the  cracks  of 
the  floor,  and  some  few  Spanish  coins,  and  the  half  of  a 
broken  sixpence,  which  had  doubtless  been  a  love-token. 
There  was  likewise  a  silver  coronation  medal  of  George 
the  Third.  But,  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  strong-box  fled 
from  one  dark  corner  to  another,  or  otherwise  eluded  the 
second  Peter's  clutches,  till,  should  he  seek  much  farther, 
he  must  burrow  into  the  earth. 

We  will  not  follow  him  in  his  triumphant  progress, 
step  by  step.  Suffice  it,  that  Peter  worked  like  a  steam- 
engine,  and  finished,  in  that  one  winter,  the  job,  which 
all  the  former  inhabitants  of  the  house,  with  time  and 
the  elements  to  aid  them,  had  only  half  done  in  a  cen- 
tury. Except  the  kitchen,  every  room  and  chamber  was 
now  gutted.  The  house  was  nothing  but  a  shell,  — 
the  apparition  of  a  house,  —  as  unreal  as  the  painted 


182  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

edifices  of  a  theatre.  It  was  like  the  perfect  rind  of 
a  great  cheese,  in  which  a  mouse  had  dwelt  and  nib- 
bled, till  it  was  a  cheese  no  more.  And  Peter  was  the 
mouse. 

What  Peter  had  torn  down,  Tabitha  had  burned  up  : 
for  she  wisely  considered,  that,  without  a  house,  they 
should  need  no  wood  to  warm  it ;  and  therefore  econ- 
omy was  nonsense.  Thus  the  whole  house  might  be  said 
•to  have  dissolved  in  smoke,  and  flown  up  among  the 
clouds,  through  the  great  black  flue  of  the  kitchen  chim- 
ney. It  was  an  admirable  parallel  to  the  feat  of  the  man 
who  jumped  down  his  own  throat. 

On  the  night  between  the  last  day  of  winter  and  the 
first  of  spring,  every  chink  and  cranny  had  been  ran- 
.  sacked,  except  within  the  precincts  of  the  kitchen.  This 
fated  evening  was  an  ugly  one.  A  snow-storm  had  set 
in  some  hours  before,  and  was  still  driven  and  tossed 
about  the  atmosphere  by  a  real  hurricane,  which  fought 
against  the  house,  as  if  the  prince  of  the  air,  in  person, 
were  putting  the  final  stroke  to  Peter's  labors.  The 
framework  being  so  much  weakened,  and  the  inward 
props  removed,  it  would  have  been  no  marvel,  if,  in  some 
stronger  wrestle  of  the  blast,  the  rotten  walls  of  the 
^edifice,  and  all  the  peaked  roofs,  had  come  crashing  down 
upon  the  owner's  head.  He,  however,  was  careless  of  the 
peril,  but  as  wild  and  restless  as  the  night  itself,  or  as 
the  flame  that  quivered  up  the  chimney,  at  each  roar  of 
the  tempestuous  wind. 

"  The  wine,  Tabitha  !  "  he  cried.  "  My  grandfather's 
rich  old  wine  !  We  will  drink  it  now !  " 

Tabitha  arose  from  her  smoke-blackened  bench  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  placed  the  bottle  before  Peter,  close 
beside  the  old  brass  lamp,  which  had  likewise  been  the 
prize  of  his  researches.  Peter  held  it  before  his  eyes,  and 


PETER    GOLDTHWAITE'S    TREASURE.         183 

looking  through  the  liquid  medium,  beheld  the  kitchen 
illuminated  with  a  golden  glory,  which  also  enveloped 
Tabitha,  and  gilded  her  silver  hair,  and  converted  her 
mean  garments  into  robes  of  queenly  splendor.  It  re- 
minded him  of  his  golden  dream. 

"  Mr.  Peter,"  remarked  Tabitha,  "  must  the  wine  be 
drunk  before  the  money  is  found  ?  " 

"  The  money  is  found  !  "  exclaimed  Peter,  with  a  sort 
of  fierceness.  "  The  "chest  is  within  my  reach.  I  will 
not  sleep,  till  I  have  turned  this  key  in  the  rusty  lock. 
Eut,  first  of  all,  let  us  drink ! " 

There  being  no  corkscrew  in  the  house,  he  smote  the 
neck  of  the  bottle  with  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  rusty 
key,  and  decapitated  the  sealed  cork  at  a  single  blow. 
He  then  filled  two  little  china  teacups,  which  Tabitha 
had  brought  from  the  cupboard.  So  clear  and  brilliant 
was  this  aged  wine,  that  it  shone  within  the  cups,  and 
rendered  the  sprig  of  scarlet  flowers,  at  the  bottom  of 
•each,  more  distinctly  visible,  than  when  there  had  been 
no  wine  there.  Its  rich  and  delicate  perfume  wasted 
itself  round  the  kitchen. 

"  Drink,  Tabitha  !  "  cried  Peter.  "  Blessings  on  the 
honest  old  fellow,  who  set  aside  this  good  liquor  for 
you  and  me !  And  here 's  to  Peter  Goldthwaite's 
memory !  " 

"  And  good  cause  have  we  to  remember  him,"  quoth 
Tabitha,  as  she  drank. 

How  many  years,  and  through  what  changes  of  for- 
tune, and  various  calamity,  had  that  bottle  hoarded  up 
its  effervescent  joy,  to  be  quaffed  at  last  by  two  such 
boon  companions !  A  portion  of  the  happiness  of  a 
former  age  had  been  kept  for  them,  and  was  now  set 
free,  in  a  crowd  of  rejoicing  visions,  to  sport  amid  the 
storm  and  desolation  of  the  present  time.  Until  they 


184  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

have  finished  the  bottle,  we  must  turn  our  eyes  else- 
where. 

It  so  chanced,  that,  on  this  stormy  night,  Mr.  John 
Brown  found  himself  ill  at  ease,  in  his  wire-cushioned 
arm-chair,  by  the  glowing  grate  of  anthracite,  which 
heated  his  handsome  parlor.  He  was  naturally  a  good 
sort  of  a  man,  and  kind  and  pitiful,  whenever  the  mis- 
fortunes of  others  happened  to  reach  his  heart  through 
the  padded  vest  of  his  own  prosperity.  This  evening, 
he  had  thought  much  about  his  old  partner,  Peter 
Goldthwaite,  his  strange  vagaries,  and  continual  ill  luck, 
the  poverty  of  his  dwelling,  at  Mr.  Brown's  last  visit, 
and  Peter's  crazed  and  haggard  aspect,  when  he  had 
talked  with  him  at  the  window. 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  thought  Mr.  John  Brown.  "  Poor, 
crack-brained  Peter  Goldthwaite  !  For  old  acquaintance' 
sake,  I  ought  to  have  taken  care  that  he  was  comforta- 
ble, this  rough  winter." 

These  feelings  grew  so  powerful,  that,  in  spite  of  the 
inclement  weather,  he  resolved  to  visit  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite immediately.  The  strength  of  the  impulse  was- 
really  singular.  Every  shriek  of  the  blast  seemed  a 
summons,  or  would  have  seemed  so,  had  Mr.  Brown 
been  accustomed  to  hear  the  echoes  of  his  own  fancy  in 
the  wind.  Much  amazed  at  such  active  benevolence,  he 
huddled  himself  in  his  cloak,  muffled  his  throat  and  ears 
in  comforters  and  handkerchiefs,  and,  thus  fortified,  bade 
defiance  to  the  tempest.  But  the  powers  of  the  air  had 
rather  the  best  of  the  battle.  Mr.  Brown  was  just 
weathering  the  corner,  by  Peter  Goldthwaite's  house, 
when  the  hurricane  caught  him  off  his  feet,  tossed  him 
face  downward  into  a  snow-bank,  and  proceeded  to 
bury  his  protuberant  part  beneath  fresh  drifts.  There 
seemed  little  hope  of  his  reappearance,  earlier  than  the 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S   TREASURE.        185 

next  thaw.  At  the  same  moment,  his  hat  was  snatched 
away,  and  whirled  aloft  into  some  far-distant  region, 
whence  no  tidings  have  as  yet  returned. 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Brown  contrived  to  burrow  a  pas- 
sage through  the  snow-drift,  and,  with  his  bare  head 
bent  against  the  storm,  floundered  onward  to  Peter's 
door.  There  was  such  a  creaking,  and  groaning,  and 
rattling,  and  such  an  ominous  shaking  throughout  the 
crazy  edifice,  that  the  loudest  rap  would  have  been  in- 
audible to  those  within.  He  therefore  entered,  without 
ceremony,  and  groped  his  way'  to  the  kitchen. 

His  intrusion,  even  there,  was  unnoticed.  Peter  and 
Tabitha  stood  with  their  backs  to  the  door,  stooping  over 
a  large  chest,  which,  apparently,  they  had  just  dragged 
from  a  cavity,  or  concealed  closet,  on  the  left  side  of  the 
chimney.  By  the  lamp  in  the  old  woman's  hand,  Mr. 
Brown  saw  that  the  chest  was  barred  and  clamped  with 
iron,  strengthened  with  iron  plates,  and  studded  with  iron 
nails,  so  as  to  be  a  fit  receptacle  in  which  the  wealth  of 
one  century  might  be  hoarded  up  for  the  wants  of  an- 
other. Peter  Goldthwaite  was  inserting  a  key  into  the 
lock. 

"  O  Tabitha ! "  cried  he,  with  tremulous  rapture, 
"  how  shall  I  endure  the  effulgence  ?  The  gold  !  —  the 
bright,  bright  gold  !  Methinks  'I  can  remember  my  last 
glance  at  it,  just  as  the  iron-plated  lid  fell  down.  And 
ever  since,  being  seventy  years,  it  has  been  blazing  in 
secret,  and  gathering  its  splendor  against  this  glorious 
moment !  It  will  flash  upon  us  like  the  noonday  sun  !  " 

"Then  shade  your  eyes,  Mr.  Peter!"  said  Tabitha, 
with  somewhat  less  patience  than  usual.  "  But,  for 
mercy's  sake,  do  turn  the  key  ! " 

And,  with  a  strong  effort  of  both  hands,  Peter  did 
force  the  rusty  key  through  the  intricacies  of  the  rusty 


186  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

lock.  Mr.  Brown,  in  the  mean  time,  had  drawn  near, 
and  thrust  his  eager  visage  between  those  of  the  other 
two,  at  the  instant  that  Peter  threw  up  the  lid.  No 
sudden  blaze  illuminated  the  kitchen. 

"  What 's  here  ?  "  exclaimed  Tabitha,  adjusting  her 
spectacles,  and  holding  the  lamp  over  the  open  chest. 
"Old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  hoard  of  old  rags." 

"  Pretty  much  so,  Tabby,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  lifting  a 
handful  of  the  treasure. 

O,  what  a  ghost  of  dead  and  buried  wealth  had  Peter 
Goldthwaite  raised,  to  scare  himself  out  of  his  scanty 
wits  withal !  Here  was  the  semblance  of  an  incalculable 
sum,  enough  to  purchase  the  whole  town,  and  build 
every  street  anew,  but  which,  vast  as  it  was,  no  sane 
man  would  have  given  a  solid  sixpence  for.  What  then, 
in  sober  earnest,  were  the  delusive  treasures  of  the 
chest  ?  Why,  here  were  old  provincial  bills  of  credit, 
and  treasury  notes,  and  bills  of  land  banks,  and  all 
other  bubbles  of  the  sort,  from  the  first  issue,  above  a 
century  and  a  half  ago,  down  nearly  to  the  Revolution. 
Bills  of  a  thousand  pounds  were  intermixed  with  parch- 
ment pennies,  and  worth  no  more  than  they. 

"  And  this,  then,  is  old  Peter  Goldthwaite's  treasure  !  " 
said  John  Brown.  "  Your  namesake,  Peter,  was  some- 
thing like  yourself;  and,  when  the  provincial  currency 
had  depreciated  fifty  or  seventy -five  per  cent,  he  bought 
it  up,  in  expectation  of  a  rise.  I  have  heard  my  grand- 
father say,  that  old  Peter  gave  his  father  a  mortgage 
of  this  very  house  and  land,  to  raise  cash  for  his  silly 
project.  But  the  currency  kept  sinking,  till  nobody 
would  take  it  as  a  gift ;  and  there  was  old  Peter  Gold- 
thwaite, like  Peter  the  second,  with  thousands  in  his 
strong-box,  and  hardly  a  coat  to  his  back.  He  went 
mad  upon  the  strength  of  it.  But,  never  mind,  Peter ! 


PETER   GOLDTHWAITE'S    TREASURE.         187 

It  is  just  the  sort  of  capital  for  building  castles  in  the 
air." 

"  The  house  will  be  down  about  our  ears !  "  cried 
Tabitha,  as  the  wind  shook  it  with  increasing  violence. 

"  Let  it  fall !  "  said  Peter,  folding  his  arms,  as  he 
seated  himself  upon  the  chest. 

"  No,  no,  my  old  friend  Peter,"  said  John  Brown. 
"I  have  house-room  for  you  and  Tabby,  and  a  safe 
vault  for  the  chest  of  treasure.  To-morrow  we  will  try 
to  come  to  an  agreement  about  the  sale  of  this  old  house. 
Real  estate  is  well  up,  and  I  could  afford  you  a  pretty 
handsome  price." 

"  And  I,"  observed  Pester  Goldthwaite,  with  reviving 
spirits,  "  have  a  plan  for  laying  out  the  cash  to  great  ad- 
vantage." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  muttered  John  Brown  to  him- 
self, "  we  must  apply  to  the  next  court  for  a  guardian 
to  take  care  of  the  solid  cash ;  and  if  Peter  insists  upon 
speculating,  he  may  do  it  to  his  heart's  content  with  old 
PETER  GOLDTHWAITE'S  TREA.SUKE." 


CHIPPINGS  WITH  A  CHISEL. 

|ASSING  a  summer,  several  years  since,  at  Ed- 
gartown,  on  the  island  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  I 

became   acquainted  with   a   certain  carver  of 

tombstones,  "who  had  travelled'and  voyaged  thither  from 
the  interior  of  Massachusetts,  in  search  of  professional 
employment.  The  speculation  had  turned  out  so  suc- 
cessful, that  my  friend  expected  to  transmute  slate  and 
marble  into  silver  and  gold,  to  the  amount  of  at  least  a 
thousand  dollars,  during  the  few  mouths  of  his  sojourn 
at  Nantucket  and  the  Vineyard.  The  secluded  life,  and 
the  simple  and  primitive  spirit  which  still  characterizes 
the  inhabitants  of  those  islands,  especially  of  Martha's 
Vineyard,  insure  their  dead  friends  a  longer  and  dearer 
remembrance  than  the  daily  novelty  and  revolving  bus- 
tle of  the  world  can  elsewhere  afford  to  beings  of  the 
past.  Yet  while  every  family  is  anxious  to  erect  a  me- 
morial to  its  departed  members,  the  untainted  breath  of 
ocean  bestows  such  health  and  length  of  days  upon  the 
people  of  the  isles,  as  would  cause  a  melancholy  dearth 
of  business  to  a  resident  artist  in  that  line.  His  own 
monument,  recording  his  disease  by  starvation,  would 
probably  be  an  early  specimen  of  his  skill.  Gravestones, 
therefore,  have  generally  been  an  article  of  imported 
merchandise. 


CHIPPINGS   WITH    A    CHISEL.  189 

In  my  -walks  through  the  burial-ground  of  Edgartown, 

—  where  the  dead  have  lain  so  long  that  the  soil,  once 
enriched  by  their  decay,  has  returned  to  its  original  bar- 
renness, —  in  that  ancient  burial-ground  I  noticed  much 
variety    of  monumental  sculpture.     The   elder  stones, 
dated  a  century  back,  or  more,  have  borders  elaborately 
carved  with  flowers,  and  are  adorned  with  a  multiplicity 
of  death's-heads,  cross-bones,  scythes,  hour-glasses,  and 
other  lugubrious   emblems  of  mortality,  with   here  and 
there  a  winged  cherub  to  direct   the  mourner's  spirit 
upward.     These  productions  of  Gothic  taste  must  have 
been  quite  beyond  the  colonial  skill  of  the  day,  and  were 
probably   carved  in  London,  and   brought   across   the 
ocean  to  commemorate  the  defunct  worthies  of  this  lonely 
isle.     The  more   recent  monuments   are   mere  slabs   of 
slate,   in  the  ordinary   style,   without  any  superfluous 
flourishes  to  set  off  the  bald  inscriptions.     But  others 

—  and  those  far  the  most  impressive,  both  to  my  taste 
and  feelings  —  were  roughly  hewn  from  the  gray  rocks 
of  the  island,  evidently  by  the  unskilled  hands  of  surviv- 
ing friends  and  relatives.     On  some  there  were  merely 
the  initials  of  a  name  ;  some  were  inscribed  with  misspelt 
prose  or  rhyme,  in  deep   letters,  which  the   moss   and 
wintry  rain  of  many  years  had  not  been  able  to  obliter- 
ate.    These,  these  were  graves  where  loved  ones  slept ! 
It  is  an  old  theme  of  satire,  the  falsehood  and  vanity  of 
monumental  eulogies;   but  when  affection  and   sorrow 
grave  the  letters  with  their  own  painful  labor,  then  we 
may  be  sure  that  they  copy  from  the  record   on  their 
hearts. 

My  acquaintance,  the  sculptor,  —  lie  may  share  that 
title  with  Greenough,  since  the  dauber  of  signs  is  a 
painter  as  well  as  Raphael,  —  had  found  a  ready  market 
for  all  his  blank  slabs  of  marble,  and  full  occupation  in 


190  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

lettering  and  ornamenting  them.  He  was  an  elderly 
man,  a  descendant  of  the  old  Puritan  family  of  Wiggles- 
worth,  with  a  certain  simplicity  and  singleness,  both  of 
heart  and  mind,  which,  methinks,  is  more  rarely  found 
among  us  Yankees  than  in  any  other  communi\y  of  peo- 
ple. In  spite  of  his  gray  head  and  wrinkled  brow,  he 
was  quite  like  a  child  in  all  matters  save  what  had  some 
reference  to  his  own  business;  he  seemed,  unless  my 
fancy  misled  me,  to  view  mankind  in  no  other  relation 
than  as  people  in  want  of  tombstones ;  and  his  literary 
attainments  evidently  comprehended  very  little,  either  of 
prose  or  poetry,  which  had  not,  at  one  time  or  other, 
been  inscribed  on  slate  or  marble.  His  sole  task  and 
office  among  the  immortal  pilgrims  of  the  tomb  —  the 
duty  for  which  Providence  had  sent  the  old  man  into 
the  world,  as  it  were  with  a  chisel  in  his  hand  —  was  to 
label  the  dead  bodies,  lest  their  names  should  be  for- 
gotten at  the  resurrection.  Yet  he  had  not  failed,  within 
a  narrow  scope,  to  gather  a  few  sprigs  of  earthly,  and 
more  than  earthly,  wisdom,  —  the  harvest  of  many  a 
grave. 

And  lugubrious  as  his  calling  might  appear,  he  was  as 
cheerful  an  old  soul  as  health,  and  integrity,  and  lack  of 
care,  could  make  him,  and  used  to  set  to  work  upon  one 
sorrowful  inscription  or  another  with  that  sort  of  spirit 
which  impels  a  man  to  sing  at  his  labor.  On  the  whole, 
I  found  Mr.  Wigglesworth  an  entertaining,  and  often 
instructive,  if  not  an  interesting  character;  and  partly 
for  the  charm  of  his  society,  and  still  more  because  his 
work  has  an  invariable  attraction  for  "  man  that  is  born 
of  woman,"  I  was  accustomed  to  spend  some  hours  a 
day  at  his  workshop.  The  quaintness  of  his  remarks, 
and  their  not  infrequent  truth,  —  a  truth  condensed  and 
pointed  by  the  limited  sphere  of  his  view,  —  gave  a 


CHIPPINGS   WITH   A   CHISEL.  191 

racincss  to  his  talk,  which  mere  worldliness  and  general 
cultivation  would  at  once  have  destroyed. 

Sometimes  we  would  discuss  the  respective  merits  of 
the  various  qualities  of  marble,  numerous  slabs  of  which 
were  resting  against  the  walls  of  the  shop ;  or  sometimes 
an  hour  or  two  would  pass  quietly,  without  a  word  on 
either  side,  while  I  watched  how  neatly  his  chisel  struck 
out  letter  after  letter  of  the  names  of  the  Nortons,  the 
Mayhews,  the  Luces,  the  Daggets,  and  other  immemorial 
families  of  the  Vineyard.  Often,  with  an  artist's  pride, 
the  good  old  sculptor  would  speak  of  favorite  productions 
of  his  skill,  which  were  scattered  throughout-  the  village 
graveyards  of  New  England.  But  my  chief  and  most 
instructive  amusement  was  to  witness  his  interviews  with 
his  customers,  who  held  interminable  consultations  about 
the  form  and  fashion  of  the  desired  monuments,  the 
buried  excellence  to  be  commemorated,  the  anguish  to 
be  expressed,  and  finally,  the  lowest  price  in  dollars  and 
cents  for  which  a  marble  transcript  of  their  feelings  might 
be  obtained.  Really,  my  mind  received  many  fresh  ideas, 
which,  perhaps,  may  remain  in  it  even  longer  than  Mr. 
Wigglesworth's  hardest  marble  will  retain  the  -deepest 
strokes  of  his  chisel. 

An  elderly  lady  came  to  bespeak  a  monument  for  her 
first  love,  who  had  been  killed  by  a  whale  in  the  Pacific 
Ocean  no  less  than  forty  years  before.  It  was  singular 
that  so  strong  an  impression  of  early  feeling  should  have 
survived  through  the  changes  of  her  subsequent  life,  in 
the  course  of  which  she  had  been  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and, 
so  far  as  I  could  judge,  a  comfortable  and  happy  woman. 
Reflecting  within  myself,  it  appeared  to  me  that  tliis  life- 
long sorrow  —  as,  in  all  good  faith,  she  deemed  it  —  was 
one  of  the  most  fortunate  circumstances  of  her  history. 
It  had  given  an  ideality  to  her  mind ;  it  had  kept  her 


192  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

purer  and  less  earthly  than  she  would  otherwise  have 
been,  by  drawing  a  portion  of  her  sympathies  apart  from 
•earth.  Amid  the  throng  of  enjoyments,  and  the  pressure^ 
•of  worldly  care,  and  all  the  warm  materialism  of  this  life, 
;she  had  communed  with  a  vision,  and  had  been  the  better 
for  such  intercourse.  Faithful  to  the  husband  of  her 
maturity,  and  loving  him  with  a  far  more  real  affection 
than  she  ever  could  have  felt  for  this  dream  of  her  girl- 
hood, there  had  still  been  an  imaginative  faith  to  the 
ocean-buried,  so  that  an  ordinary  character  had  thus  been 
elevated  and  refined.  Her  sighs  had  been  the  breath  of 
Heaven  to -her  soul.  The  good  lady  earnestly  desired 
that  the  proposed  monument  should  be  ornamented  with 
a  carved  border  of  marine  plants,  intertwined  with  twisted 
sea-shells,  such  as  were  probably  waving  over  her  lover's 
skeleton,  or  strewn  around  it,  in  the  far  depths  of  the 
Pacific.  But  Mr.  Wiggles  worth's  chisel  being  inadequate 
to  the  task,  she  was  forced  to  content  herself  with  a  rose, 
hanging  its  head  from  a  broken  stem.  After  her  de- 
parture, I  remarked  that  the  symbol  was  none  of  the 
most  apt. 

"And  yet,"  said  my  friend  the  sculptor,  embodying  in 
this  image  the  thoughts  that  had  been  passing  through 
my  own  mind,  "  that  broken  rose  has  shed  its  sweet  smell 
through  forty  years  of  the  good  woman's  life." 

It  was  seldom  that  I  could  find  such  pleasant  food  for 
contemplation  as  in  the  above  instance.  None  of  the 
applicants,  I  think,  affected  me  more  disagreeably  than 
an  old  man  who  came,  with  his  fourth  wife  hanging  on 
his  arm,  to  bespeak  gravestones  for  the  three  former 
occupants  of  his  marriage-bed.  I  watched  wifeh  some 
anxiety  to  see  whether  his  remembrance  of  either  were 
more  affectionate  than  of  the  other  two,  but  could  dis- 
cover no  symptom  of  the  kind.  The  three  monuments 


CHIPPINGS   WITH   A   CHISEL.  193 

were  all  to  be  of  the  same  material  and  form,  and  each 
decorated,  in  bas-relief,  with  two  weeping-willows,  one 
of  these  sympathetic  trees  bending  over  its  fellow,  which 
was  to  be  broken  in  the  midst  and  rest  upon  a  sepulchral 
urn.  This,  indeed,  was  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  standing 
emblem  of  conjugal  bereavement.  I  shuddered  at  the 
gray  polygamist,  who  had  so  utterly  lost  the  holy  sense 
of  individuality  in  wedlock,  that  methought  he  was  fain 
to  reckon  upon  his  fingers  how  many  women,  who  had 
once  slept  by  his  side,  were  now  sleeping  in  their  graves. 
There  was  even  —  if  I  wrong  him  it  is  no  great  matter 
—  a  glance  sidelong  at  his  living  spouse,  as  if  he  were 
inclined  to  drive  a  thriftier  bargain  by  bespeaking  four 
gravestones  in  a  lot.  I  was  better  pleased  with  a  rough 
old  whaling  captain,  who  gave  directions  for  a  broad 
marble  slab,  divided  into  two  compartments,  one  of  which 
was  to  contain  an  epitaph  on  his  deceased  wife,  and  the 
other  to  be  left  vacant,  till  death  should  engrave  his 
own  name  there.  As  is  frequently  the  case  among  the 
whalers  of  Martha's  Vineyard,  so  much  of  this  storm- 
beaten  widower's  life  had  been  tossed  away  on  distant ' 
seas,  that  out  of  twenty  years  of  matrimony  he  had  spent 
scarce  three,  and  those  at  scattered  intervals,  beneath  his 
own  roof.  Thus  the  wife  of  his  youth,  though  she  died 
in  his  and  her  declining  age,  retained  the  bridal  dewdrops 
fresh  around  her  memory. 

My  observations  gave  me  the  idea,  and  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth  confirmed  it,  that  husbands  were  more  faithful  in 
setting  up  memorials  to  their  dead  wives  than  widows  1  o 
their  dead  husbands.  I  was  not  ill-natured  enough  to 
fancy  that  women/ less  than  men,  feel  so  sure  of  Ihcir 
own  constancy  as  to  be  willing  to  give  a  pledge  of  it  in 
marble.  It  is  more  probably  the  fact,  that  while  men 
are  able  to  reflect  upon  their  lost  companions  as  remem- 

VOL.  II.  9  M 


194  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

brances  apart  from  themselves,  women,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  conscious  that  a  portion  of  their  being  has  gone  M'ith 
the  departed  whithersoever  he  has  gone.  Soul  clings  to 
soul ;  the  living  dust  has  a  sympathy  with  the  dust  of 
the  grave ;  and,  by  the  very  strength  of  that  sympathy, 
the  wife  of  the  dead  shrinks  the  more  sensitively  from 
reminding  the  world  of  its  existence.  The  link  is  al- 
ready strong  enough ;  it  needs  no  visible  symbol.  And, 
though  a  shadow  walks  ever  by  her  side,  and  the  touch 
of  a  chill  hand  is  on  her  bosom,  yet  life,  and  perchance 
its  natural  yearnings,  may  still  be  warm  within  her,  and 
inspire  her  with  new  hopes  of  happiness.  Then  would 
she  mark  out  the  grave,  the  scent  of  which  would  be 
perceptible  on  the  pillow  of  the  second  bridal  ?  No  — 
but  rather  level  its  green  mound  with  the  surrounding 
earth,  as  if,  when  she  dug  up  again  her  buried  heart, 
the  spot  had  ceased  to  be  a  grave.  Yet,  in  spite  of  these 
sentimentalities,  I  was  prodigiously  amused  by  an  inci- 
dent, of  which  I  had  not  the  good  fortune  to  be  a  wit- 
ness, but  which  Mr.  Wigglesworth  related  with  consid- 
erable humor.  A  gentlewoman  of  the  town,  receiving 
news  of  her  husband's  loss  at  sea,  had  bespoken  a  hand- 
some slab  of  marble,  and  came  daily  to  watch  the  pro- 
gress of  my  friend's  chisel.  One  afternoon,  when  the 
good  lady  and  the  sculptor  were  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  epitaph,  which  the  departed  spirit  might  have  been 
greatly  comforted  to  read,  who  should  walk  into  the 
workshop  but  the  deceased  himself,  in  substance  as  well 
as  spirit !  He  had  been  picked  up  at  sea,  and  stood  in 
no  present  need  of  tombstone  or  epitaph. 

"  And  how,"  inquired  I,  "  did  his  wife  bear  the  shock 
of  joyful  surprise  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  the  old  man,  deepening  the  grin  of  a 
death's-head,  on  which  his  chisel  was  just  then  em- 


CHIPPINGS   WITH   A   CHISEL.  195 

ployed,  "  I  really  felt  for  the  poor  woman ;  it  was  one 
of  my  best  pieces  of  marble,  —  aud  to  be  thrown  away 
on  a  living  man  !  " 

A  comely  woman,  with  a  pretty  rosebud  of  a  daugh- 
ter, came  to  select  a  gravestone  for  a  twin-daughter, 
who  had  died  a  mouth  before.  I  was  impressed  with 
the  different  nature  of  their  feelings  for  the  dead ;  the 
mother  was  calm  and  wofully  resigned,  fully  conscious 
of  her  loss,  as  of  a  treasure  which  she  had  not  always 
possessed,  and,  therefore,  had  been  aware  that  it  might 
be  taken  from  her ;  but  the  daughter  evidently  had  no 
real  knowledge  of  what  death's  doings  were.  Her 
thoughts  knew,  but  not  her  heart.  It  seemed  to  me, 
that  by  the  print  and  pressure  which  the  dead  sister 
had  left  upon  the  survivor's  spirit,  her  feelings  were 
almost  the  same  as  if  she  still  stood  side  by  side,  and 
arm  in  arm,  with  the  departed,  looking  at  the  slabs  of 
marble ;  and  once  or  twice  she  glanced  around  with  a 
sunny  smile,  which,  as  its  sister  smile  had  faded  for- 
ever, soon  grew  confusedly  overshadowed.  Perchance 
her  consciousness  was  truer  than  her  reflection,  —  per- 
chance her  dead  sister  was  a  closer  companion  than  in 
life.  The  mother  and  daughter  talked  a  long  while  with 
Mr.  Wigglesworth  about  a  suitable  epitaph,  and  finally 
chose  an  ordinary  verse  of  ill-matched  rhymes,  which 
had  already  been  inscribed  upon  innumerable  tomb- 
stones. But,  when  we  ridicule  the  triteness  of  monu- 
mental verses,  we  forget  that  Sorrow  reads  far  deeper 
in  them  than  we  can,  and  finds  a  profound  and  individ- 
ual purport  in  what  seems  so  vague  and  inexpressive, 
unless  interpreted  by  her.  She  makes  the  epitaph  anew, 
though  the  self-same  words  may  have  served  for  a  thou- 
sand graves. 

"  And  yet,"  said  I  afterwards  to  Mr.  Wigglesworth, 


196  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"they  might  have  made  a  better  choice  than  this. 
While  you  were  discussing  the  subject,  I  was  struck 
by  at  least  a  dozen  simple  and  natural  expressions  from 
the  lips  of  both  mother  and  daughter.  One  of  these 
would  have  formed  an  inscription  equally  original  and 
appropriate." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  the  sculptor,  shaking  his  head, 
"  there  is  a  good  deal  of  comfort  to  be  gathered  from 
these  little  old  scraps  of  poetry;  and  so  I  always  rec- 
ommend them  in  preference  to  any  new-fangled  ones. 
And  somehow,  they  seem  to  stretch  to  suit  a  great  grief, 
and  shrink  to  fit  a  small  one." 

It  was  not  seldom  that  ludicrous  images  were  excited 
by  what  took  place  between  Mr.  Wigglesworth  and  his 
customers.  A  shrewd  gentlewoman,  who  kept  a  tavern 
in  the  town,  was  anxious  to  obtain  two  or  three  grave- 
stones for  the  deceased  members  of  her  family,  and  to 
pay  for  these  solemn  commodities  by  taking  the  sculptor 
to  board.  Hereupon  a  fantasy  arose  in  my  mind,  of 
good  Mr.  Wigglesworth  sitting  down  to  dinner  at  a 
broad,  flat  tombstone,  carving  one  of  his  own  plump 
little  inarble  cherubs,  gnawing  a  pair  of  cross-bones, 
and  drinking  out  of  a  hollow  death's-head,  or  perhaps 
a  lachrymatory  vase,  or  sepulchral  urn ;  while  his  hos- 
tess's dead  children  waited  on  him  at  the  ghastly  ban- 
quet. On  communicating  this  nonsensical  picture  to  the 
old  man,  he  laughed  heartily,  and  pronounced  my  humor 
to  be  of  the  right  sort. 

"  I  have  lived  at  such  a  table  all  my  days,"  said  he, 
"  and  eaten  no  small  quantity  of  slate  and  marble." 

"Hard  fare!"  rejoined  I,  smiling;  "but  you  seemed 
to  have  found  it  excellent  of  digestion,  too." 

A  man  of  fifty,  or  thereabouts,  with  a  harsh,  unpleas- 
ant countenance,  ordered  a  stone  for  the  grave  of  his 


CHIPPINGS   WITH   A   CHISEL.  197 

oitter  enemy  with  whom  he  had  waged  warfare  half  a 
lifetime,  to  their  mutual  misery  and  ruin.  The  secret  of 
this  phenomenon  was,  that  hatred  had  become  the  sus- 
tenance and  enjoyment  of  the  poor  wretch's  soul ;  it  had 
supplied  the  place  of  all  kindly  affections ;  it  had  been 
really  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  himself  and  the  man 
who  shared  the  passion ;  and  when  its  object  died,  the 
unappeasable  foe  was  the  only  mourner  for  the  dead. 
He  expressed  a  purpose  of  being  buried  side  by  side 
with  his  enemy. 

"  I  doubt  whether  their  dust  will  mingle,"  remarked 
the  old  sculptor  to  me  ;  for  often  there  was  an  earthliness 
in  his  conceptions. 

"  0  yes,"  replied  I,  who  had  mused  long  upon  the  in- 
cident ;  "  and  when  they  rise  again,  these  bitter  foes  may 
find  themselves  dear  friends.  Methinks  what  they  mis- 
took for  hatred  was  but  love  under  a  mask." 

A  gentleman  of  antiquarian  propensities  provided  a 
memorial  for  an  Indian  of  Chabbiquidick,  one  of  the  few 
of  untainted  blood  remaining  in  that  region,  and  said  to 
be  an  hereditary  chieftain,  descended  from  the  sachem 
who  welcomed  Governor  Mayhew  to  the  Vineyard.  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  exerted  his  best  skill  to  carve  a  broken 
bow  and  scattered  sheaf  of  arrows,  in  memory  of  the 
hunters  and  warriors  whose  race  was  ended  here ;  but  he 
likewise  sculptured  a  cherub,  to  denote  that  the  poor 
Indian  had  shared  the  Christian's  hope  of  immortality. 

"  Why,"  observed  I,  taking  a  perverse  view  of  the 
winged  boy  and  the  bow  and  arrows,  "it  looks  more  like 
Cupid's  tomb  than  an  Indian  chiefs  !  " 

"  You  talk  nonsense,"  said  the  sculptor,  with  the 
oflended  pride  of  art ;  he  then  added,  with  his  usual  good- 
nature, "  How  can  Cupid  die  when  there  are  such  pretty 
maidens  in  the  Vineyard  ?  " 


198  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

"Very  true,"  answered  I;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day 
I  thought  of  other  matters  than  tombstones. 

At  our  next  meeting  I  found  him  chiselling  an  open 
book  upon  a  marble  headstone,  and  concluded  that  it 
was  meant  to  express  the  erudition  of  some  black-letter 
clergyman  of  the  Cotton  Mather  school.  It  turned  out, 
however,  to  be  emblematical  of  the  scriptural  knowledge 
of  an  old  woman  who  had  never  read  anything  but  her 
Bible ;  and  the  monument  was  a  tribute  to  her  piety  and 
good  works,  from  the  Orthodox  church,  of  which  she  had 
been  a  member.  In  strange  contrast  with  this  Christian 
woman's  memorial,  was  that  of  an  infidel,  whose  grave- 
stone, by  his  own  direction,  bore  an  avowal  of  his  belief 
that  the  spirt  within  him  would  be  extinguished  like  a 
flame,  and  that  the  nothingness  whence  he  sprang  would 
receive  him  again.  Mr.  Wigglesworth  consulted  me  as 
to  the  propriety  of  enabling  a  dead  man's  dust  to  utter 
this  dreadful  creed. 

"  If  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  that  a  single  mortal  would 
read  the  inscription  without  a  shudder,  my  chisel  should 
never  cut  a  letter  of  it.  But  when  the  grave  speaks  such 
falsehoods,  the  soul  of  man  will  know  the  truth  by  its 
own  horror." 

"  So  it  will,"  said  I,  struck  by  the  idea ;  "  the  poor 
infidel  may  strive  to  preach  blasphemies  from  his  grave ; 
but  it  will  be  only  another  method  of  impressing  the 
soul  with  a  consciousness  of  immortality." 

There  was  an  old  man  by  the  name  of  Norton,  noted 
throughout  the  island  for  his  great  wealth,  which  he 
had  accumulated  by  the  exercise  of  strohg  and  shrewd 
faculties,  combined  with  a  most  penurious  disposition. 
This  wretched  miser,  conscious  that  he  had  not  a  friend 
to  be  mindful  of  him  in  his  grave,  had  himself  taken  the 
needful  precautions  for  posthumous  remembrance,  by 


CHIPPINGS   WITH   A    CHISEL.  199 

bespeaking  an  immense  slab  of  white  marble,  with,  a  long 
epitaph  in  raised  letters,  the  whole  to  be  as  magnificent 
as  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  skill  could  make  it.  There  was 
something  very  characteristic  in  this  contrivance  to  have 
his  money's  worth  even  from  his  own  tombstone,  which, 
indeed,  afforded  him  more  enjoyment  in  the  few  months 
that  he  lived  thereafter,  than  it  probably  will  in  a  whole 
century,  now  that  it  is  laid  over  his  bones.  This  incident 
reminds  me  of  a  young  girl,  a  pale,  slender,  feeble  crea- 
ture, most  unlike  the  other  rosy  and  healthful  damsels 
of  the  Vineyard,  amid  whose  brightness  she  was  fading 
away.  Day  after  day  did  the  poor  maiden  come  to  the 
sculptor's  shop,  and  pass  from  one  piece  of  marble  to  an- 
other, till  at  last  she  pencilled  her  name  upon  a  slender 
slab,  which,  I  think,  was  of  a  more  spotless  white  than  all 
the  rest.  I  saw  her  no  more,  but  soon  afterwards  found 
Mr.  Wigglesworth  cutting  her  virgin  name  into  the  stone 
which  she  had  chosen. 

"  She  is  dead,  —  poor  girl,"  said  he,  interrupting  the 
tune  which  he  was  whistling,  "and  she  chose  a  good 
piece  of  stuff  for  her  headstone.  Now  which  of  these 
slabs  would  you  like  best  to  see  your  own  name  upon  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  good  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth,"  replied  I,  after  a  moment's  pause,  —  for  the  ab- 
ruptness of  the  question  had  somewhat  startled  me,  — 
"to  be  quite  sincere  with  you,  I  care  little  or  nothing 
about  a  stone  for  my  own  grave,  and  am  somewhat  in- 
clined to  scepticism  as  to  the  propriety  of  erecting  monu- 
ments at  all,  over  the  dust  that  once  was  human.  The 
weight  of  these  heavy  marbles,  though  unfelt  by  the  dead 
corpse  of  the  enfranchised  soul,  presses  drearily  upon  the 
spirit  of  the  survivor,  and  causes  him  to  connect  the  idea 
of  death  with  the  dungeon-like  imprisonment  of  the  tomb, 
instead  of  with  the  freedom  of  the  skies.  Every  grave- 


200  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

stone  that  you  ever  made  is  the  visible  symbol  of  a  mis- 
taken system.  Our  thoughts  should  soar  upward  with 
the  butterfly,  —  not  linger  with  the  exuvise  that  confined 
him.  In  truth  and  reason,  neither  those  whom  we  call 
the  living,  and  still  less  the  departed,  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  grave." 

"  I  never  heard  anything  so  heathenish  !  "  said  Mr. 
Wigglesworth,  perplexed  and  displeased  at  sentiments 
which  controverted  all  his  notions  and  feelings,  and  im- 
plied the  utter  waste,  and  worse,  of  his  whole  life's  labor ; 
"  would  you  forget  your  dead  friends,  the  moment  they 
are  under  the  sod  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  under  the  sod,"  I  rejoined ;  "  then  why 
should  I  mark  the  spot  where  there  is  no  treasure  hid- 
den !  Forget  them  ?  No  !  But  to  remember  them 
aright,  I  would  forget  what  they  have  cast  off.  And  to 
gain  the  truer  conception  of  DEATH,  I  would  forget  the 
GRAVE!" 

But  still  the  good  old  sculptor  murmured,  and  stum- 
bled, as  it  were,  over  the  gravestones  amid  which  he  had 
walked  through  life.  Whether  he  were  right  or  wrong, 
I  had  grown  the  wiser  from  our  companionship  and  from 
my  observations  of  nature  and  character,  as  displayed  by 
those  who  came,  with  their  old  griefs  or  their  new  ones, 
to  get  them  recorded  upon  his  slabs  of  marble.  And  yet, 
with  my  gain  of  wisdom,  I  had  likewise  gained  perplex- 
ity ;  for  there  was  a  strange  doubt  in  my  mind,  whether 
the  dark  shadowing  of  this  life,  the  sorrows  and  regrets, 
have  not  as  much  real  comfort  in  them  —  leaving  relig- 
ious influences  out  of  the  question  —  as  what  we  term 
life's  joys. 


THE   SHAKER  BRIDAL. 

j]NE  day,  in  the  sick-chamber  of  Father  Ephraim, 
who  had  been  forty  years  the  presiding  elder 
over  the  Shaker  settlement  at  Goshen,  there 
was  an  assemblage  of  several  of  the  chief  men  of  the 
sect.  Individuals  had  come  from  the  rich  establishment 
at  Lebanon,  from  Canterbury,  Harvard,  and  Alfred,  and 
from  all  the  other  localities  where  this  strange  people 
have  fertilized  the  ragged  hills  of  New  England  by  their 
systematic  industry.  An  eld^er  was  likewise  there,  who 
had  made  a  pilgrimage  of  a  thousand  miles  from  a  village 
of  the  faithful  in  Kentucky,  to  visit  his  spiritual  kindred, 
the  children  of  the  sainted  Mother  Ann.  He  had  par- 
taken of  the  homely  abundance  of  their  tables,  had  quaffed 
the  far-famed  Shaker  cider,  and  had  joined  in  the  sacred 
dance,  every  step  of  which  is  believed  to  alienate  the  en- 
thusiast from  earth,  and  bear  him  onward  to  heavenly 
purity  and  bliss.  His  brethren  of  the  North  had  now 
courteously  invited  him  to  be  present  on  an  occasion 
when  the  concurrence  of  every  eminent  member  of  their 
community  was  peculiarly  desirable. 

The  venerable  Father  Ephraim  sat  in  his  easy-chair, 

not  only  hoary-headed  and   infirm  with    age,  but  worn 

down  by  a  lingering  disease,  which,  it  was  evident,  would 

very  soon  transfer  his  patriarchal  staff  to  other  hands. 

9* 


202  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

At  his  footstool  stood  a  man  and  woman,  both  clad  in  the 
Shaker  garb. 

"  My  brethren,"  said  Father  Ephraim  to  the  surround- 
ing elders,  feebly  exerting  himself  to  utter  these  few  words, 
"  here  are  the  son  and  daughter  to  whom  I  would  com- 
mit the  trust  of  which  Providence  is  about  to  lighten  my 
weary  shoulders.  Itead  their  faces,  I  pray  you,  and  say 
whether  the  inward  movement  of  the  spirit  hath  guided 
my  choice  aright." 

Accordingly,  each  elder  looked  at  the  two  candidates 
with  a  most  scrutinizing  gaze.  The  man,  whose  name 
was  Adam  Colburn,  had  a  face  sunburnt  with  labor  in 
the  fields,  yet  intelligent,  thoughtful,  and  traced  with 
cares  enough  for  a  whole  lifetime,  though  he  had  barely 
reached  middle  age.  There  was  something  severe  in  his 
aspect,  and  a  rigidity  throughout  his  person,  characteris- 
tics that  caused  him  generally  to  be  taken  for  a  school- 
master ;  which  vocation,  in  fact,  he  had  formerly  exercised 
for  several  years.  The  w,oman,  Martha  Pierson,  was 
somewhat  above  thirty,  thin  and  pale,  as  a  Shaker  sister 
almost  invariably  is,  and  not  entirely  free  from  that 
corpse-like  appearance,  which  the  garb  of  the  sisterhood 
is  so  well  calculated  to  impart. 

"This  pair  are  still  in  the  summer  of  their  years," 
observed  the  elder  from  Harvard,  a  shrewd  old  man. 
"  I  would  like  better  to  see  the  hoarfrost  of  autumn  on 
their  heads.  Methinks,  also,  they  will  be  exposed  to 
peculiar  temptations,  on  account  of  the  carnal  desires 
which  have  heretofore  subsisted  between  them." 

"  Nay,  brother,"  said  the  elder  from  Canterbury,  "  the 
hoarfrost  and  the  blackfrost  hath  done  its  work  on 
Brother  Adam  and  Sister  Martha,  even  as  we  sometimes 
discern  its  traces  in  our  cornfields  while  they  are  yet 
green.  And  why  shpuld  we  question  the  wisdom  of  our 


THE   SHAKER   BRIDAL.  203 

venerable  Father's  purpose,  although  this  pair,  in  their 
early  youth,  have  loved  one  another  as  the  world's  people 
love  ?  Are  there  not  many  brethren  and  sisters  among 
us  who  have  lived  long  together  in  wedlock,  yet,  adopt- 
ing our  faith,  find  their  hearts  purified  from  all  but  spirit- 
ual affection  ?  " 

Whether  or  no  the  early  loves  of  Adam  and  Martha 
had  rendered  it  inexpedient  that  they  should  now  preside 
together  over  a  Shaker  village,  it  was  certainly  most  sin- 
gular that  such  should  be  the  final  result  of  many  warm 
and  tender  hopes.  Children  of  neighboring  families,  their 
affection  was  older  even  than  their  school-days ;  it  seemed 
an  innate  principle,  interfused  among  all  their  sentiments 
and  feelings,  and  not  so  much  a  distinct  remembrance, 
as  connected  with  their  whole  volume  of  remembrances. 
But,  just  as  they  reached  a  proper  age  for  their  union, 
misfortunes  had  fallen  heavily  on  both,  and  made  it  neces- 
sary that  they  should  resort  to  personal  labor  for  a  bare 
subsistence.  Even  under  these  circumstances,  Martha 
Pierson  would  probably  have  consented  to  unite  her  fate 
with  Adam  Colburn's,  and,  secure  of  the  bliss  of  mutual 
love,  would  patiently  have  awaited  the  less  important 
gifts  of  fortune.  But  Adam,  being  of  a  calm  and  cautious 
character,  was  loath  to  relinquish  the  advantages  which 
a  single  man  possesses  for  raising  himself  in  the  world. 
Year  after  year,  therefore,  their  marriage  had  been  de- 
ferred. Adam  Colburn  had  followed  many  vocations, 
had  travelled  far,  and  seen  much  of  the  world  and  of  life. 
Martha  had  earned  her  bread  sometimes  as  a  seamstress, 
sometimes  as  help  to  a  farmer's  wife,  sometimes  as  school- 
mistress of  the  village  children,  sometimes  as  a  nurse  or 
watcher  of  the  sick,  thus  acquiring  a  varied  experience, 
the  ultimate  use  of  which  she  little  anticipated.  But 
nothing  had  gone  prosperously  with  either  of  the  lovers ; 


204  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

at  no  subsequent  moment  would  matrimony  have  been  so 
prudent  a  measure  as  when  they  had  first  parted,  in  the 
opening  bloom  of  life,  to  seek  a  better  fortune.  Still  they 
had  held  fast  their  mutual  faith.  Martha  might  have  been 
the  wife  of  a  man  who  sat  among  the  senators  of  his 
native  State  ;  and  Adam  could  have  won  the  hand,  as  lie 
had  unintentionally  won  the  heart,  of  a  rich  and  comely 
widow.  But  neither  of  them  desired  good  fortune,  save 
to  share  it  with  the  other. 

At  length  that  calm  despair  which  occurs  only  in  a 
strong  and  somewhat  stubborn  character,  and  yields  to 
no  second  spring  of  hope,  settled  down  on  the  spirit  of 
Adam  Colburn.  He  sought  an  interview  with  Martha, 
and  proposed  that  they  should  join  the  Society  of  Shak- 
ers. The  converts  of  this  sect  are  oftener  driven  within 
its  hospitable  gates  by  worldly  misfortune,  than  drawn 
thither  by  fanaticism,  and  are  received  without  inquisition 
as  to  their  motives.  Martha,  faithful  still,  had  placed  hei 
hand  in  that  of  her  lover,  and  accompanied  him  to  the 
Shaker  village.  Here  the  natural  capacity  of  each,  culti- 
vated and  strengthened  by  the  difficulties  of  their  previous 
lives,  had  soon  gained  them  an  important  rank  in  the  So- 
ciety, whose  members  are  generally  below  the  ordinary 
standard  of  intelligence.  Their  faith  and  feelings  had, 
in  some  degree,  become  assimilated  to  those  of  their 
fellow- worshippers.  Adam  Colburn  gradually  acquired 
reputation,  not  only  in  the  management  of  the  temporal 
affairs  of  the  Society,  but  as  a  clear  and  efficient  preacher 
of  their  doctrines.  Martha  was  not  less  distinguished  in 
the  duties  proper  to  her  sex.  Finally,  when  the  infirm- 
ities of  Father  Ephraim  had  admonished  him  to  seek  a 
successor  in  his  patriarchal  office,  he  thought  of  Adam 
and  Martha,  and  proposed  to  renew,  in  their  persons,  the 
primitive  form  of  Shaker  government,  as  established  by 


THE   SHAKEll   BRIDAL.  205 

Mother  Ann.  They  were  to  be  the  Father  and  Mother 
of  the  village.  The  simple  ceremony,  which  would  con- 
stitute them  such,  was  now  to  be  performed. 

"  Son  Adam,  and  daughter  Martha,"  said  the  vener- 
able Father  Ephraim,  fixing  his  aged  eyes  piercingly  upon 
them,  "  if  ye  can  conscientiously  undertake  this  charge, 
c,  that  the  brethren  may  not  doubt  of  your  fitness." 
Father,"  replied  Adam,  speaking  with  the  calmness 
of  his  character,  "  I  came  to  your  village  a  disappointed 
man,  weary  of  the  world,  worn  out  with  continual  trouble, 
seeking  only  a  security  against  evil  fortune,  as  I  had  no 
hope  of  good.  Even  my  wishes  of  worldly  success  were 
almost  dead  within  me.  I  came  hither  as  a  man  might 
come  to  a  tomb,  willing  to  lie  down  in  its  gloom  and  cold- 
ness, for  the  sake  of  its  peace  and  quiet.  There  was  but 
one  earthly  affection  in  my  breast,  and  it  had  grown 
calmer  since  my  youth  ;  so  that  I  was  satisfied  to  bring 
Martha  to  be  my  sister,  in  our  new  abode.  We  are 
brother  and  sister,  nor  would  I  have  it  otherwise.  And 
in  this  peaceful  village  I  have  found  all  that  I  hoped  for, 
—  all  that  I  desire.  I  will  strive,  with  my  best  strength, 
for  the  spiritual  and  temporal  good  of  our  community. 
My  conscience  is  not  doubtful  in  this  matter.  I  am 
ready  to  receive  the  trust." 

"Thou  hast  spoken  well,  son  Adam,"  said  the  Father. 
"  God  will  bless  thee  in  the  office  which  I  am  about  to 
resign." 

"  But  our  sister  !  "  observed  the  elder  from  Harvard ; 
"  hath  she  not  likewise  a  gift  to  declare  her  senti- 
ments ?  " 

Martha  started,  and  moved  her  lips,  as  if  she  would 
have  made  a  formal  reply  to  this  appeal.  But,  had  she 
attempted  it,  perhaps  the  old  recollections,  the  long- 
repressed  feelings  of  childhood,  youth,  and  womauliood, 


206  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

might  have  gushed  from  her  heart,  in  words  that  it  would 
have  been  profanation  to  utter  there. 

"Adam  has  spoken,"  said  she,  hurriedly;  "his  senti- 
ments are  likewise  mine." 

But  while  speaking  these  few  words,  Martha  grew  so 
pale,  that  she  looked  fitter  to  be  laid  in  her  coffin,  than  to 
stand  in  the  presence  of  Father  Ephraim  and  the  elders ; 
she  shuddered,  also,  as  if  there  were  something  awful 
or  horrible  in  her  situation  and  destiny.  It  required, 
indeed,  a  more  than  feminine  strength  of  nerve,  to  sus- 
tain the  fixed  observance  of  men  so  exalted  and  famous 
throughout  the  sect,  as  these  were.  They  had  overcome 
their  natural  sympathy  witli  human  frailties  and  affec- 
tions. One,  when  he  joined  the  Society,  had  brought 
with  him  his  wife  and  children,  but  never,  from  that 
hour,  had  spoken  a  fond  word  to  the  former,  or  taken 
his  best-loved  child  upon  his  knee.  Another,  whose 
family  refused  to  follow  him,  had  been  enabled  —  such 
was  his  gift  of  holy  fortitude  —  to  leave  them  to  the 
mercy  of  the  world.  The  youngest  of  the  elders,  a  man 
of  about  fifty,  had  been  bred  from  infancy  in  a  Shaker  vil- 
lage, and  was  said  never  to  have  clasped  a  woman's  hand 
in  his  own,  and  to  have  no  conception  of  a  closer  tie  than 
the  cold  fraternal  one  of  the  sect.  Old  Father  Ephraim 
was  the  most  awful  character  of  all.  In  his  youth,  he 
had  been  a  dissolute  libertine,  but  was  converted  by 
Mother  Ann  herself,  and  had  partaken  of  the  wild  fanati- 
cism of  the  early  Shakers.  Tradition  whispered,  at  the 
firesides  of  the  village,  that  Mother  Ann  had  been  com- 
pelled to  sear  his  heart  of  flesh  with  a  red-hot  iron,  before 
it  could  be  purified  from  earthly  passions. 

However  that  might  be,  poor  Martha  had  a  woman's 
heart,  and  a  tender  one,  and  it  quailed  within  her  as  she 
looked  round  at  those  strange  old  men,  and  from  them 


THE    SHAKER    BRIDAL.  207 

to  the  calm  features  of  Adam  Colburn.  But  perceiving 
that  the  elders  eyed  her  doubtfully,  she  gasped  for  breath, 
and  again  spoke. 

"  With  what  strength  is  left  me  by  my  many  troubles," 
said  she,  "  I  am  ready  to  undertake  this  charge,  and  to  do 
my  best  in  it." 

"My  children,  join  your  hands,"  said  Father  Ephraim. 

They  did  so.  The  elders  stood  up  around,  and  the 
Father  feebly  raised  himself  to  a  more  erect  position,  but 
continued  sitting  in  his  great  chair. 

"  I  have  bidden  you  to  join  your  hands,"  said  he,  "  not 
in  earthly  affection,  for  ye  have  cast  off  its  chains  forever ; 
but  as  brother  and  sister  in  spiritual  love,  and  helpers  of 
one  another  in  your  allotted  task.  Teach  unto  others  the 
faith  which  ye  have  received.  Open  wide  your  gates,  — 
I  deliver  you  the  keys  thereof,  —  open  them  wide  to  all 
who  will  give  up  the  iniquities  of  the  world,  and  come 
hither  to  lead  lives  of  purity  and  peace.  Receive  the 
weary  ones,  who  have  known  the  vanity  of  earth,  —  re- 
ceive the  little  children,  that  they  may  never  learn  that 
miserable  lesson.  And  a  blessing  be  upon  your  labors  ; 
so  that  the  time  may  hasten  on,  when  the  mission  of 
Mother  Ann  shall  have  wrought  its  full  effect, — when 
children  shall  no  more  be  born  and  die,  and  the  last  sur- 
vivor of  mortal  race,  some  old  and  weary  man  like  me, 
shall  see  the  sun  go  down,  nevermore  to  rise  on  a  world 
of  sin  and  sorrow !  " 

The  aged  Father  sank  back  exhausted,  and  the  sur- 
rounding elders  deemed,  with  good  reason,  that  the  hour 
was  come,  when  the  new  heads  of  the  village  must  enter 
on  their  patriarchal  duties.  In  their  attention  to  Father 
Ephraim,  their  eyes  were  turned  from  Martha  Pierson, 
who  grew  paler  and  paler,  unnoticed  even  by  Adam 
Colburn.  He,  indeed,  had  withdrawn  his  hand  from 


208 


TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 


hers,  and  folded  lib  arms  with  a  sense  of  satisfied  am- 
bition. But  pale  and  paler  grew  Martha  by  his  side,  till, 
like  a  corpse  in  its  burial-clothes,  she  sank  down  at  the 
feet  of  her  early  lover;  for,  after  many  trials  firmly 
borne,  her  heart  could  endure  the  weight  of  its  desolate 
agony  no  longer. 


NIGHT  SKETCHES. 

BENEATH  AN  UMBRELLA. 

LEASANT  is  a  rainy  winter's  day,  within  doors ! 
The  best  study  for  such  a  day,  or  the  best 
amusement,  —  call  it  which  you  will,  —  is  a 
book  of  travels,  describing  scenes  the  most  unlike  that 
sombre  one,  which  is  mistily  presented  through  the  win- 
dows. I  have  experienced,  that  fancy  is  then  most  suc- 
cessful in  imparting  distinct  shapes  and  vivid  colors  to 
the  objects  which  the  author  has  spread  upon  his  page, 
and  that  his  words  become  magic  spells  to  summon  up  a 
thousand  varied  pictures.  Strange  landscapes  glimmer 
through  the  familiar  walls  of  the  room,  and  outlandish 
figures  thrust  themselves  almost  within  the  sacred  pre- 
cincts of  the  hearth.  Small  as  my  chamber  is,  it  has 
space  enough  to  contain  the  ocean-like  circumference 
of  an  Arabian  desert,  its  parched  sands  tracked  by 
the  long  line  of  a  caravan,  with  the  camels  patiently 
journeying  through  the  heavy  sunshine.  Though  my 
ceiling  be  not  lofty,  yet  I  can  pile  up  the  mountains  of 
Central  Asia  beneath  it,  till  their  summits  shine  far 
above  the  clouds  of  the  middle  atmosphere.  And,  with 
my  humble  means,  a  wealth  that  is  not  taxable,  I  can 
transport  hither  the  magnificent  merchandise  of  an  Ori- 


210  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ental  bazaar,  and  call  a  crowd  of  purchasers  from  distant 
countries,  to  pay  a  fair  profit  for  the  precious  articles 
which  are  displayed  on  all  sides.  True  it  is,  however, 
that  amid  the  bustle  of  traffic,  or  whatever  else  may 
seem  to  be  going  on  around  me,  the  rain-drops  will  occa- 
sionally be  heard  to  patter  against  my  window-panes, 
which  look  forth  upon  one  of  the  quietest  streets  in  a 
New  England  town.  After  a  time,  too,  the  visions  vanish, 
and  will  not  appear  again  at  my  bidding.  Then,  it  being 
nightfall,  a  gloomy  sense  of  unreality  depresses  my  spir- 
its, and  impels  me  to  venture  out,  before  .the  clock  shall 
strike  bedtime,  to  satisfy  myself  that  the  world  is  not 
entirely  made  up  of  such  shadowy  materials,  -as  have 
busied  me  throughout  the  day.  A  dreamer  may  dwell  so 
long  among  fantasies,  that  the  things  without  him  will 
seem  as  unreal  as  those  within. 

When  eve  has  fairly  set  in,  therefore,  I  sally  forth, 
tightly  buttoning  my  shaggy  overcoat,  and  hoisting  my 
umbrella,  the  silken  dome  of  which  immediately  resounds 
with  the  heavy  drumming  of  the  invisible  rain-drops. 
Pausing  on  the  lowest  doorstep,  I  contrast  the  warmth 
and  cheerfulness  of  my  deserted  fireside  with  the  drear 
obscurity  and  chill  discomfort  into  which  I  am  about  to 
plunge.  Now  come  fearful  auguries,  innumerable  as  the 
drops  of  rain.  Did  not  my  manhood  cry  shame  upon  me, 
I  should  turn  back  within  doors,  resume  my  elbow-chair, 
my  slippers,  and  my  book,  pass  such  an  evening  of  slug- 
gish enjoyment  as  the  day  has  been,  and  go  to  bed  in- 
glorious. The  same  shivering  reluctance,  no  doubt,  has 
quelled,  for  a  moment,  the  adventurous  spirit  of  many  a 
traveller,  when  his  feet,  which  were  destined  to  meas- 
ure the  earth  around,  were  leaving  their  last  tracks  in 
the  home-paths. 

In  my  own  case,  poor  human  nature  may  be  allowed  a 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  211 

few  misgivings.*  I  look  upward,  and  discern  no  sky, 
not  even  an  unfathomable  void,  but  only  a  black,  impene- 
trable nothingness,  as  though  heaven  and  all  its  lights 
were  blotted  from  the  system  of  the  universe.  It  is  as 
if  nature  were  dead,  and  the  world  had  put  on  black, Und 
the  clouds  were  weeping  for  her.  With  their  tears  upon 
my  cheek,  I  turn  my  eyes  earthward,  but  find  little  con- 
solation here  below.  A  lamp  is  burning  dimly  at  the 
distant  comer,  and  throws  just  enough  of  light  along  the 
street,  to  show,  and  exaggerate  by  so  faintly  showing, 
the  perils  and  difficulties  which  beset  my  path.  Yonder 
dingily  white  remnant  of  a  huge  snow-bank,  —  which 
will  yet  cumber  the  sidewalk  till  the  latter  days  of 
March,  —  over  or  through  that  wintry  waste  must  I 
stride  onward.  Beyond,  lies  a  certain  Slough  of  De- 
spond, a  concoction  of  mud  and  liquid  filth,  ankle-deep, 
leg-deep,  neck-deep,  —  in  a  word,  of  unknown  bottom, — 
on  which  the  lamplight  does  not  even  glimmer,  but 
which  I  have  occasionally  watched,  in  the  gradual  growth 
of  its  horrors,  from  morn  till  nightfall.  Should  I  floun- 
der into  its  depths,  farewell  to  upper  earth  !  And  hark ! 
how  roughly  resounds  the  roaring  of  a  stream,  the  tur- 
bulent career  of  which  is  partially  reddened  by  the  gleam 
of  the  lamp,  but  elsewhere  brawls  noisily  through  the 
densest  gloom.  O,  should  I  be  swept  away  in  fording 
that  impetuous  and  unclean  torrent,  the  coroner  will 
have  a  job  with  an  unfortunate  gentleman,  who  would 
fain  end  his  troubles  anywhere  but  in  a  mud-puddle  ! 

Pshaw !  I  will  linger  not  another  instant  at  arm's- 
length  from  these  dim  terrors,  which  grow  more  obscure- 
ly formidable,  the  longer  I  delay  to  grapple  with  them. 
Now  for  the  onset !  And  lo  !  with  little  damage,  save  a 
dash  of  rain  in  the  face  and  breast,  a  splash  of  mud  high 
up  the  pantaloons,  and  the  left  boot  full  of  ice-cold  water, 


212  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

behold  me  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  The  lamp  throws 
down  a  circle  of  red  light  around  me ;  and  twinkling 
onward  from  corner  to  corner,  I  discern  other  beacons 
marshalling  my  way  to  a  brighter  scene.  But  this  is  a 
lonesome  and  dreary  spot.  The  tall  edifices  bid  gloomy 
defiance  to  the  storm,  with  their  blinds  all  closed,  even 
as  a  man  winks  when  he  faces  a  spattering  gust.  How 
loudly  tinkles  the  collected  rain  down  the  tin  spouts! 
The  puffs  of  wind  are  boisterous,  and  seem  to  assail  me 
from  various  quarters  at  once.  I  have  often  observed 
that  this  corner  is  a  haunt  and  loitering-place  for  those 
winds  which  have  no  work  to  do  upon  the  deep,  dashing 
ships  against  our  iron-bound  shores ;  nor  in  the  forest, 
tearing  up  the  sylvan  giants  with  half  a  rood  of  soil  at 
their  vast  roots.  Here  they  amuse  themselves  with  lesser 
freaks  of  mischief.  See,  at  this  moment,  how  they  assail 
yonder  poor  woman,  who  is  passing  just  within  the  verge 
of  the  lamplight !  One  blast  struggles  for  her  umbrella, 
and  turns  it  wrong  side  outward ;  another  whisks  the 
cape  of  her  cloak  across  her  eyes ;  while  a  third  takes 
most  unwarrantable  liberties  with  the  lower  part  of  her 
attire.  Happily,  the  good  dame  is  no  gossamer,  but  a 
figure  of  rotundity  and  fleshly  substance ;  else  would 
these  aerial  tormentors  whirl  her  aloft,  like  a  witch  upon 
a  broomstick,  and  set  her  down,  doubtless,  in  the  filthi- 
est kennel  hereabout. 

From  hence  I  tread  upon  firm  pavements  into  the 
centre  of  the  town.  Here  there  is  almost  as  brilliant 
an  illumination  as  when  some  great  victory  has  been 
won,  either  on  the  battle-field  or  at  the  polls.  Two  rows 
of  shops,  with  windows  down  nearly  to  the  ground,  cast 
a  glow  from  side  to  side,  while  the  black  night  hangs 
overhead  like  a  canopy,  and  thus  keeps  the  splendor 
from  diffusing  itself  away.  The  wet  sidewalks  gleam 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  213 

with  a  broad  sheet  of  red  light.  The  rain-drops  glitter, 
as  if  the  sky  were  pouring  down  rubies.  The  spouts 
gush  with  fire.  Methinks  the  scene  is  an  emblem  of 
the  deceptive  glare,  which  mortals  throw  around  their 
footsteps  in  the  moral  world,  thus  bedazzling  themselves, 
till  they  forget  the  impenetrable  obscurity  that  hems 
them  in,  and  that  can  be  dispelled  only  by  radiance 
from  above.  And  after  all,  it  is  a  cheerless  scene,  and 
cheerless  are  the  wanderers  in  it.  Here  comes  one  who 
has  so  long  been  familiar  with  tempestuous  weather  that 
he  takes  the  bluster  of  the  storm  for  a  friendly  greeting, 
as  if  it  should  say,  "  How  fare  ye,  brother  ?  "  He  is  a 
retired  sea-captain,  wrapped  in  some  nameless  garment 
of  the  pea-jacket  order,  and  is  now  laying  his  course 
towards  the  Marine  Insurance  Office,  there  to  spin 
yarns  of  gale  and  shipwreck,  with  a  crew  of  old  sea- 
dogs  like  himself.  The  blast  will  put  in  its  word  among 
their  hoarse  voices,  and  be  understood  by  all  of  them. 
Next  I  meet  an  unhappy  slipshod  gentleman,  with  a 
cloak  flung  hastily  over  his  shoulders,  running  a  race 
with  boisterous  winds,  and  striving  to  glide  between  the 
drops  of  rain.  Some  domestic  emergency  or  other  has 
blown  this  miserable  man  from  his  warm  fireside  in  quest 
of  a  doctor  !  See  that  little  vagabond,  —  how  carelessly 
he  has  taken  his  stand  right  underneath  a  spout,  while 
staring  at  some  object  of  curiosity  in  a  shop-window! 
Surely  the  rain  is  his  native  element ;  he  must  have 
fallen  with  it  from  the  clouds,  as  frogs  are  supposed 
to  do.  , 

Here  is  a  picture,  and  a  pretty  one.  A  young  man 
and  a  girl,  both  enveloped  in  cloaks,  and  huddled  be- 
neath the  scanty  protection  of  a  cotton  umbrella.  She 
wears  rubber  overshoes  ;  but  he  is  in  his  dancing-pumps ; 
and  they  are  on  their  way,  no  doubt,  to  some  cotillon- 


214  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

party,  or  subscription-ball  at  a  dollar  a  head,  refresh- 
ments included.  Thus  they  struggle  against  the  gloomy 
tempest,  lured  onward  by  a  vision  of  festal  splendor. 
But,  ah !  a  most  lamentable  disaster.  Bewildered  by 
the  red,  blue,  and  yellow  meteors,  in  an  apothecary's 
window,  they  have  stepped  upon  a  slippery  remnant 
of  ice,  and  are  precipitated  into  a  confluence  of  swollen 
floods,  at  the  corner  of  two  streets.  Luckless  lovers  ! 
Were  it  my  nature  to  be  other  than  a  looker-on  in  life, 
I  would  attempt  your  rescue.  Since  that  may  not  be, 
I  vow,  should  you  be  drowned,  to  weave  such  a  pathetic 
story  of  your  fate,  as  shall  call  forth  tears  enough  to 
drown  you  both  anew.  Do  ye  touch  bottom,  my  young 
friends  ?  Yes ;  they  emerge  like  a  water-nymph  and  a 
river  deity,  and  paddle  hand  in  hand  out  of  the  depths 
of  the  dark  pool.  They  hurry  homeward,  dripping,  dis- 
consolate, abashed,  but  with  love  too  warm  to  be  chilled 
by  the  cold  water.  They  have  stood  a  test  which  proves 
too  strong  for  many.  Faithful,  though  over  head  and 
ears  in  trouble ! 

Onward  I  go,  deriving  a  sympathetic  joy  or  sorrow 
from  the  varied  aspect  of  mortal  affairs,  even  as  my 
figure  catches  a  gleam  from  the  lighted  windows,  or 
is  blackened  by  an  interval  of  darkness.  Not  that  mine 
is  altogether  a  chameleon  spirit,  with  no  hue  of  its  own. 
Now  I  pass  into  a  more  retired  street,  where  the  dwell- 
ings of  wealth  and  poverty  are  intermingled,  presenting  a 
range  of  strongly  contrasted  pictures.  Here,  too,  may 
be  found  the  golden  mean.  Through  yonder  casement 
I  discern  a  family  circle,  —  the  grandmother,  the  par- 
ents, and  the  children,  —  all  flickering,  shadow-like,  in 
the  glow  of  a  wood-fire.  Bluster,  fierce  blast,  and  beat, 
thou  wintry  rain,  against  the  window-panes !  Ye  can- 
uot  damp  the  enjoyment  of  that  fireside.  Surely  my  fate 


NIGHT    SKETCHES.  215 

is  hard,  that  I  should  be  wandering  homeless  here,  tak- 
ing to  my  bosom  night,  and  storm,  and  solitude,  instead 
of  wife  and  children.  Peace,  murmurer !  Doubt  not 
that  darker  guests  are  sitting  round  the  hearth,  though 
the  warm  blaze  hides  all  but  blissful  images.  Well; 
here  is  still  a  brighter  scene.  A  stately  mansion,  illu- 
minated for  a  ball,  with  cut-glass  chandeliers  and  ala- 
baster lamps  in  every  room,  and  sunny  landscapes  hang- 
ing round  the  walls.  See  !  a  coach  has  stopped,  whence 
emerges  a  slender  beauty,  who,  canopied  by  two  um- 
brellas, glides  within  the  portal,  and  vanishes  amid 
lightsome  thrills  of  music.  Will  she  ever  feel  the  night- 
wind  and  the  rain  ?  Perhaps,  —  perhaps  !  And  will 
Death  and  Sorrow  ever  enter  that  proud  mansion? 
As  surely  as  the  dancers  will  be  gay  within  its  halls 
to-night.  Such  thoughts  sadden,  yet  satisfy  my  heart; 
for  they  teach  me  that  the  poor  man,  in  his  mean, 
weather-beaten  hovel,  without  a  fire  to  cheer  him,  may 
call  the  rich  his  brother,  brethren  by  Sorrow,  who  must 
be  an  inmate  of  both  their  households,  —  brethren  by 
Death,  who  will  lead  them  both  to  other  homes. 

Onward,  still  onward,  I  plunge  into  the  night.  Now 
have  I  reached  the  utmost  limits  of  the  town,  where  the 
last  lamp  struggles  feebly  with  the  darkness,  like  the 
farthest  star  that  stands  sentinel  on  the  borders  of  un- 
created space.  It  is  strange  what  sensations  of  sublimity 
may  spring  from  a  very  humble  source.  Such  are  sug- 
gested by  this  hollow  roar  of  a  subterranean  cataract, 
where  the  mighty  stream  of  a  kennel  precipitates  itself 
beneath  an  iron  grate,  and  is  seen  no  more  on  earth. 
Listen  awhile  to  its  voice  of  mystery ;  and  fancy  will 
magnify  it,  till  you  start  and  smile  at  the  illusion.  And 
now  another  sound,  —  the  rumbling  of  wheels,  —  as  the 
mail-coach,  outward  bound,  rolls  heavily  off  the  pave- 


216  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ments,  and  splashes  through  the  mud  and  water  of  the 
road.  All  night  long,  the  poor  passengers  will  be  tossed 
to  and  fro  between  drowsy  watch  and  troubled  sleep,  and 
will  dream  of  their  own  quiet  beds,  and  awake  to  find 
themselves  still  jolting  onward.  Happier  my  lot,  who 
will  straightway  hie  me  to  my  familiar  room,  and  toast 
myself  comfortably  before  the  fire,  musing,  and  fitfully 
dozing,  and  fancying  a  strangeness  in  such  sights  as  all 
may  see.  But  first  let  me  gaze  at  this  solitary  figure, 
who  comes  hitherward  with  a  tin  lantern,  which  throws 
the  circular  pattern  of  its  punched  holes  on  the  ground 
about  him.  He  passes  fearlessly  into  the  unknown  gloom, 
whither  I  will  not  follow  him. 

This  figure  shall  supply  me  with  a  moral,  wherewith, 
for  lack  of  a  more  appropriate  one,  I  may  wind  up  my 
sketch.  He  fears  not  to  tread  the  dreary  path  before 
him,  because  his  lantern,  which  was  kindled  at  the  fire- 
side of  his  home,  will  light  him  back  to  that  same  fireside 
again.  And  thus  we,  night-wanderers  through  a  stormy 
and  dismal  world,  if  we  bear  the  lamp  of  Faith,  enkindled 
at  a  celestial  fire,  it  will  surely  lead  us  home  to  that 
Heaven  whence  its  radiance  was  borrowed. 


BNDICOTT  AND  THE  RED  CROSS. 

noon  of  an  autumnal  day,  more   than  two 
centuries  ago,  the  English  colors  were  displayed 

by  the  standard-bearer  of  the  Salem  trainband, 

which  had  mustered  for  martial  exercise  under  the  orders 
of  John  Endicott.  It  was  a  period  when  the  religious 
exiles  were  accustomed  often  to  buckle  on  their  armor, 
and  practise  the  handling  of  their  weapons  of  war.  Since 
the  first  settlement  of  New  England,  its  prospects  had 
never  been  so  dismal.  The  dissensions  between  Charles 
the  Tirst  and  his  subjects  were  then,  and  for  several 
years  afterwards,  confined  to  the  floor  of  Parliament. 
The  measures  of  the  King  and  ministry  were  rendered 
more  tyranically  violent  by  an  opposition,  which  had  not 
yet  acquired  sufficient  confidence  in  its  own  strength  to 
resist  royal  injustice  with  the  sword.  The  bigoted  and 
haughty  primate,  Laud,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  con- 
trolled the  religious  affairs  of  the  realm,  and  was  conse- 
quently invested  with  powers  which  might  have  wrought 
the  utter  ruin  of  the  two  Puritan  colonies,  Plymouth  and 
Massachusetts.  There  is  evidence  on  record,  that  our 
forefathers  perceived  their  danger,  but  were  resolved  that 
their  infant  country  should  not  fall  without  a  struggle, 
even  beneath  the  giant  strength  of  the  King's  right  arm. 
Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  times,  when  the  folds  of 

VOL.  II.  10 


218  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  English  banner,  with  the  Red  Cross  in  its  field,  were 
flung  out  over  a  company  of  Puritans.  Their  leader,  the 
famous  Endicott,  was  a  man  of  stern,  and  resolute  coun- 
tenance, the  effect  of  which  was  heightened  by  a  grizzled 
beard  that  swept  the  upper  portion  of  his  breastplate. 
This  piece  of  armor  was  so  highly  polished,  that  the 
whole  surrounding  scene  had  its  image  in  the  glittering 
steel.  The  central  object  in  the  mirrored  picture  was 
an  edifice  of  humble  architecture,  with  neither  steeple 
nor  bell  to  proclaim  it  —  what  nevertheless  it  was  —  the 
house  of  prayer.  A  token  of  the  perils  of  the  wilder- 
ness was  seen  in  the  grim  head  of  a  wolf,  which  had  just 
been  slain  within  the  precincts  of  the  town,  and,  according 
to  the  regular  mode  of  claiming  the  bounty,  was  nailed 
on  the  porch  of  the  meeting-house.  The  blood  was  still 
plashing  on  the  doorstep.  There  happened  to  be  visible, 
at  the  same  noontide  hour,  so  many  other  characteristics 
of  the  times  and  manners  of  the  Puritans,  that  we  must 
endeavor  to  represent  them  in  a  sketch,  though  far  less 
vividly  than  they  were  reflected  in  the  polished  breast- 
plate of  John  Endicott. 

In  close  vicinity  to  the  sacred  edifice  appeared  that 
important  engine  of  Puritanic  authority,  the  whipping- 
post, with  the  soil  around  it  well  trodden  by  the  feet  of 
evil-doers,  who  had  there  been  disciplined.  At  one  cor- 
ner of  the  meeting-house  was  the  pillory,  and  at  the  other 
the  stocks;  and,  by  a  singular  good  fortune  for  our 
sketch,  the  head  of  an  Episcopalian  and  suspected  Cath- 
olic was  grotesquely  incased  in  the  former  machine; 
while  a  fellow-criminal,  who  had  boisterously  quaifed  a 
health  to  the  King,  was  confined  by  the  legs  in  the  latter. 
Side  by  side,  on  the  meeting-house  steps,  stood  a  male 
and  a  female  figure.  The  man  was  a  tall,  lean,  haggard 
personification  of  fanaticism,  bearing  on  his  breast  this 


ENDICOTT   AND   THE   RED   CROSS.          219 

label,  —  A  WANTON  GOSPELLER,  —  which  betokened  that 
he  had  dared  to  give  interpretations  of  Holy  Writ  un- 
sanctioued  by  the  infallible  judgment  of  the  civil  and 
religious  rulers.  His  aspect  showed  no  lack  of  $eal  to 
maintain  his  heterodoxies,  even  at  the  stake.  The  woman 
wore  a  cleft  stick  on  her  tongue,  in  appropriate  retribu- 
tion for  having  wagged  that  unruly  member  against  the 
elders  of  the  church ;  and  her  countenance  and  gestures 
gave  much  cause  to  apprehend,  that,  the  moment  the 
stick  should  be  removed,  a  repetition  of 'the  offence 
would  demand  new  ingenuity  in  chastising  it. 

The  above-mentioned  individuals  had  been  sentenced 
to  -undergo  their  various  modes  of  ignominy,  for  the 
space  of  one  hour  at  noonday.  But  among  the  crowd 
were  several  whose  punishment  would  be  life-long ;  some, 
whose  ears  had  been  cropped,  like  those  of  puppy-dogs  ; 
others,  whose  cheeks  had  been  branded  with  the  initials 
of  their  misdemeanors ;  one,  with  his  nostrils  slit  and 
seared  ;  and  another,  with  a  halter  about  his  neck,  which 
he  was  forbidden  ever  to  take  off,  or  to  conceal  beneath 
his  garments.  Methinks  he  must  have  been  grievously 
tempted  to  affix  the  other  end  of  the  rope  to  some  con- 
venient beam  or  bough.  There  was  likewise  a  young 
woman,  with  no  mean  share  of  beauty,  whose  doom  it 
was  to  wear  the  letter  A  on  the  breast  of  her  gown,  in 
the  eyes  of  all  the  world  and  her  own  children.  And 
even  her  own  children  knew  what  that  initial  signified. 
Sporting  with  her  infamy,  the  lost  and  desperate  creature 
had  embroidered  the  fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth,  with 
golden  thread  and  the  nicest  art  of  needlework  ;  so  that 
the  capital  A  might  have  been  thought  to  mean  Admi- 
rable, or  anything  rather  than  Adulteress. 

Let  not  the  reader  argue,  from  any  of  these  evidences 
of  iniquity,  that  the  times  of  the  Puritans  were  more 


220  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

vicious  than  our  own,  when,  as  we  pass  along  the  very 
street  of  this  sketch,  we  discern  no  badge  of  infamy  on 
man  or  woman.  It  was  the  policy  of  our  ancestors  to 
search  out  even  the  most  secret  sins  and  expose  them 
to  shame,  without  fear  or  favor,  in  the  broadest  light  of 
the  noonday  sun.  Were  such  the  custom  now,  per- 
chance we  might  find  materials  for  a  no  less  piquant 
sketch  than  the  above. 

Except  the  malefactors  whom  we  have  described,  and 
the  diseased  or  infirm  persons,  the  whole  male  popula- 
tion of  the  town,  between  sixteen  years  and  sixty,  were 
seen  in  the  ranks  of  the  trainband.  A  few  stately  sav- 
ages, in  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of  the  primeval  Indian, 
stood  gazing  at  the  spectacle.  Their  flint-headed  arrows 
were  but  childish  weapons,  compared  with  the  match- 
locks of  the  Puritans,  and  would  have  rattled  harmlessly 
against  the  steel  caps  and  hammered  iron  breastplates, 
which  enclosed  each  soldier  in  an  individual  fortress. 
The  valiant  John  Endicott  glanced  with  an  eye  of  pride 
at  his  sturdy  followers,  and  prepared  to  renew  the  mar- 
tial toils  of  the  day. 

"  Come,  my  stout  hearts  ! "  quoth  he,  drawing  his 
sword.  "  Let  us  show  these  poor  heathen  that  we  can 
handle  our  weapons  like  men  of  might.  Well  for  them, 
if  they  put  us  not  to  prove  it  in  earnest !  " 

The  iron-breasted  company  straightened  their  line,  and 
each  man  drew  the  heavy  butt  of  his  matchlock  close  to 
his  left  foot,  thus  awaiting  the  orders  of  the  captain. 
But,  as  Endicott  glanced  right  and  left  along  the  front, 
he  discovered  a  personage  at  some  little  distance,  with 
whom  it  behooved  him  to  hold  a  parley.  It  was  an  eld- 
erly gentleman,  wearing  a  black  cloak  and  baud,  and  a 
high-crowned  hat,  beneath  which  was  a  velvet  skullcap, 
the  whole  being  the  garb  of  a  Puritan  minister.  This 


ENDICOTT   AND   THE    RED   CROSS.  221 

reverend  person  bore  a  staff,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
recently  cut  in  the  forest,  and  his  shoes  were  bemired,  as 
if  he  had  been  travelling  on  foot  through  the  swamps  of 
the  wilderness.  His  aspect  was  perfectly  that  of  a  pil- 
grim, heightened  also  by  an  apostolic  dignity.  Just  as 
Endicott  perceived  him,  he  laid  aside  his  staff,  and 
stooped  to  drink  at  a  bubbling  fountain,  which  gushed 
into  the  sunshine  about  a  score  of  yards  from  the  corner 
of  the  meeting-house.  But,  ere  the  good  man  drank,  he 
turned  his  face  heavenward  in  thankfulness,  and  then, 
holding  back  his  gray  beard  with  one  hand,  he  scooped 
up  his  simple  draught  in  the  hollow  of  the  other. 

"  What,  ho !  good  Mr.  Williams,"  shouted  Endicott. 
"  You  are  welcome  back  again  to  our  town  of  peace. 
How  does  our  worthy  Governor  Winthrop  ?  And  what 
news  from  Boston  ?  " 

"  The  Governor  hath  his  health,  worshipful  Sir,"  an- 
swered Roger  Williams,  now  resuming  his  staff,  and 
drawing  near.  "  And,  for  the  news,  here  is  a  letter, 
which,  knowing  I  was  to  travel  hitherward  to-day,  his 
Excellency  committed  to  my  charge.  Belike  it  contains 
tidings  of  much  import;  for  a  ship  arrived  yesterday 
from  England." 

Mr.  Williams,  the  minister  of  Salem,  and  of  course 
known  to  all  the  spectators,  had  now  reached  the  spot 
where  Endicott  was  standing  under  the  banner  of  his 
company,  and  put  the  Governor's  epistle  into  his  hand. 
The  broad  seal  was  impressed  with  Winthrop's  coat  of 
arms.  Endicott  hastily  unclosed  the  letter,  and  began 
to  read;  while;  as  his  eye  passed  down  the  page,  a 
wrathful  change  came  over  his  manly  countenance.  The 
blood  glowed  through  it,  till  it  seemed  to  be  kindling 
with  an  internal  heat ;  nor  was  it  unnatural  to  suppose 
that  his  breastplate  would  likewise  become  red-hot, 


222  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

with  the  angry  fire  of  the  bosom  which  it  covered.  Ar- 
riving at  the  conclusion,  he  shook  the  letter  fiercely  in 
his  hand,  so  that  it  rustled  as  loud  as  the  flag  above  his 
head. 

"  Black  tidings  these,  Mr.  "Williams,"  said  he ;  "  blacker 
never  came  to  New  England.  Doubtless  you  know  their 
purport  ?  " 

"  Yea,  truly,"  replied  Roger  Williams ;  "  for  the  Gov- 
ernor consulted,  respecting  this  matter,  with  my  brethren 
in  the  ministry  at  Boston ;  and  my  opinion  was  likewise 
asked.  And  his  Excellency  entreats  you  by  me,  that  the 
news  be  not  suddenly  noised  abroad,  lest  the  people  be 
stirred  up  unto  some  outbreak,  and  thereby  give  the 
King  and  the  Archbishop  a  handle  against  us." 

"  The  Governor  is  a  wise  man,  —  a  wise  man,  and  a 
meek  and  moderate,"  said  Endicott,  setting  his  teeth 
grimly.  "  Nevertheless,  I  must  do  according  to  my  own 
best  judgment.  There  is  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child 
in  New  England  but  has  a  concern  as  dear  as  life  in 
these  tidings;  and  if  John  Endicott' s  voice  be  loud 
enough,  man,  woman,  and  child  shall  hear  them.  Sol- 
diers, wheel  into  a  hollow  square  !  Ho,  good  people ! 
Here  are  news  for  one  and  all  of  you." 

The  soldiers  closed  in  around  their  captain ;  and  he 
and  Roger  "Williams  stood  together  under  the  banner  of 
the  Red  Cross;  while  the  women  and  the  aged  men 
pressed  forward,  and  the  mothers  held  up  their  children 
to  look  Endicott  in  the  face.  A  few  taps  of  the  drum 
gave  signal  for  silence  and  attention. 

"Fellow-  soldiers,  —  fellow -exiles,"  began  Endicott, 
speaking  under  strong  excitement,  yet  powerfully  re- 
straining it,  "  wherefore  did  ye  leave  your  native  coun- 
try ?  "Wherefore,  I  say,  have  we  left  the  green  and  fertile 
fields,  the  cottages,  or,  perchance,  the  old  gray  halls,  where 


ENDICOTT    AND   THE    RED    CROSS.  223 

•we  were  born  and  bred,  the  churchyards  where  our  fore- 
fathers lie  buried  ?  Wherefore  have  we  come  hither  to 
set  up  our  own  tombstones  in  a  wilderness  ?  A  howling 
wilderness  it  is  !  The  wolf  and  the  bear  meet  us  within 
halloo  of  our  dwellings.  The  savage  lieth  in  wait  for  us  ' 
in  the  dismal  shadow  of  the  woods.  The  stubborn  roots 
of  the  trees  break  our  ploughshares,  when  we  would  till 
the  earth.  Our  children  cry  for  bread,  and  we  must  dig 
in  the  sands  of  the  sea-shore  to  satisfy  them.  Wherefore, 
I  say  again,  have  we  sought  this  country  of  a  rugged  soil 
and  wintry  sky  ?  Was  it  not  for  the  enjoyment  of  our 
civil  rights  ?  Was  it  not  for  liberty  to  worship  God  ac- 
cording to  our  conscience  ?  " 

"  Call  you  this  liberty  of  conscience  ?  "  interrupted  a 
voice  on  the  steps  of  the  meeting-house. 

It  was  the  Wanton  Gospeller.  A  sad  and  quiet  smile 
flitted  across  the  mild  visage  of  Roger  Williams.  But 
Endicott,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  shook  his 
sword  wrathfully  at  the  culprit,  —  an  ominous  gesture 
from  a  man  like  him. 

"  What  hast  thou  to  do  with  conscience,  thou  knave  ?  " 
cried  he.  "  I  said  liberty  to  worship  God,  not  license  to 
profane  and  ridicule  him.  Break  not  in  upon  my  speech  ; 
or  I  will  lay  thee  neck  and  heels  till  this  time  to-morrow ! 
Hearken  to  me,  friends,  nor  heed  that  accursed  rhapso- 
dist.  As  I  was  saying,  we  have  sacrificed  all  things,  and 
have  come  to  a  land  whereof  the  old  world  hath  scarcely 
heard,  that  we  might  make  a  new  world  unto  ourselves, 
and  painfully  seek  a  path  from  hence  to  heaven.  But 
what  think  ye  now  ?  This  son  of  a  Scotch  tyrant,  —  this 
grandson  of  a  Papistical  and  adulterous  Scotchwoman, 
whose  death  proved  that  a  golden  crown  doth  not  always 
save  an  anointed  head  from  the  block  —  " 

"Nay,  brother,  nay,"  interposed  Mr.  Williams;  "thy 


224  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

words  are  not  meet  for  a  secret  chamber,  far  less  for  a 
public  street." 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Roger  Williams  !  "  answered  Endi- 
cott,  imperiously.  "  My  spirit  is  wiser  than  thine,  for 
the  business  now  in  hand.  I  tell  ye,  fellow-exiles,  that- 
Charles  of  England,  and  Laud,  our  bitterest  persecutor, 
arch-priest  of  Canterbury,  are  resolute  to  pursue  us  even 
hither.  They  are  taking  counsel,  saith  this  letter,  to  send 
over  a  governor-general,  in  whose  breast  shall  be  depos- 
ited all  the  law  and  equity  of  the  land.  They  are  minded, 
also,  to  establish  the  idolatrous  forms  of  English  Episco- 
pacy ;  so  that,  when  Laud  shall  kiss  the  Pope's  toe,  as 
cardinal  of  Rome,  lie  may  deliver  New  England,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  into  the  power  of  his  master  !  " 

A  deep  groan  from  the  auditors  —  a  sound  of  wrath, 
as  well  as  fear  and  sorrow  —  responded  to  this  intelli- 
gence. 

"Look  ye  to  it,  brethren,"  resumed  Endicott,  with 
increasing  energy.  "  If  this  King  and  this  arch-prelate 
have  their  will,  we  shall  briefly  behold  a  cross  on  the 
spire  of  this  tabernacle  which  we  have  builded,  and  a 
high  altar  within  its  walls,  with  wax  tapers  burning  round 
it  at  noonday.  We  shall  hear  the  sacring  bell,  and  the 
voices  of  the  Romish  priests  saying  the  mass.  But  think 
ye,  Christian  men,  that  these  abominations  may  be  suffered 
without  a  sword  drawn  ?  without  a  shot  fired  ?  without 
blood  spilt,  yea,  on  the  very  stairs  of  the  pulpit  ?  No, 
—  be  ye  strong  of  hand,  and  stout  of  heart !  Here  we 
stand  on  our  own  soil,  which  we  have  bought  with  our 
goods,  which  we.  have  won  with  our  swords,  which  we 
have  cleared  with  our  axes,  which  we  have  tilled  with  the 
sweat  of  our  brows,  which  we  have  sanctified  with  our 
prayers  to  the  God  that  brought  us  hither !  Who  shall 
enslave  us  here  ?  What  have  we  to  do  with  this  mitred 


ENDICOTT    AND    THE    EED    CROSS.  225 

prelate,  —  with  this  crowned  King  ?  What  have  we  to 
do  with  England  ?  " 

Eudicott  gazed  round  at  the  excited  countenances  of 
the  people,  now  full  of  his  own  spirit,  and  then  turned 
suddenly  to  the  standard-bearer,  who  stood  close  behind 
him. 

"  Officer,  lower  your  banner  !  "  said  he. 

The  officer  obeyed;  and,  brandishing  his  sword,  En- 
dicott  thrust  it  through  the  cloth,  and,  with  his  left  hand, 
rent  the  Red  Cross  completely  out  of  the  banner.  He  then 
waved  the  tattered  ensign  above  his  head. 

"  Sacrilegious  wretch  !  "  cried  the  High-Churchman  in 
the  pillory,  unable  longer  to  restrain  himself;  "thou 
hast  rejected  the  symbol  of  our  holy  religion  !  " 

"  Treason,  treason !  "  roared  the  royalist  in  the  stocks. 
"  He  hath  defaced  the  King's  banner  !  " 

"  Before  God  and  man,  I  will  avouch  the  deed,"  an- 
swerd  Endicott.  "  Beat  a  flourish,  drummer !  shout, 
soldiers  and  people  !  in  honor  of  the  ensign  of  New  Eng- 
land. Neither  Pope  nor  Tyrant  hath  part  in  it  now !  " 

With  a  cry  of  triumph,  the  people  gave  their  sanction 
to  one  of  the  boldest  exploits  which  our  history  records. 
And,  forever  honored  be  the  name  of  Endicott  !  We 
look  back  through  the  mist  of  ages,  and  recognize,  in  the 
rending  of  the  Red  Cross  from  New  England's  banner, 
the  first  omen  of  that  deliverance  which  our  fathers  con- 
summated, after  the  bones  of  the  stern  Puritan  had  lain 
more  than  a  century  in  the  dust. 


10 ; 


~~  ~          -  • 


THE  LILY'S  QUEST. 

AN  APOLOGUE. 

|WO  lovers,  once  upon  a  tin^e,  had  planned  a  little 
summer-house,  in  the  form  of  an  antique  temple, 
which  it  was  their  purpose  to  consecrate  to  all 
manner  of  refined  and  innocent  enjoyments.  There  they 
would  hold  pleasant  intercourse  with  one  another,  and 
the  circle  of  their  familiar  friends ;  there  they  would  give 
festivals  of  delicious  fruit ;  there  they  would  hear  light- 
some music,  intermingled  with  the  strains  of  pathos 
which  make  joy  more  sweet;  there  they  would  read 
poetry  and  fiction,  and  permit  their  own  minds  to  flit 
away  in  daydreams  and  romance ;  there,  in  short,  —  for 
why  should  we  shape  out  the  vague  sunshine  of  their 
hopes?  —  there  all  pure  delights  were  to  cluster  like 
roses  among  the  pillars  of  the  edifice,  and  blossom  ever 
new  and  spontaneously.  So,  one  breezy  and  cloudless 
afternoon,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias  Fay  set  out  upon  a 
ramble  over  the  wide  estate  which  they  were  to  possess 
together,  seeking  a  proper  site  for  their  Temple  of  Hap- 
piness. They  were  themselves  a  fair  and  happy  spectacle, 
fit  priest  and  priestess  for  such  a  shrine ;  although,  mak- 
ing poetry  of  the  pretty  name  of  Lilias,  Adam  Forrester 
was  wont  to  call  her  LILY,  because  her  form  was  as 
fragile,  and  her  cheek  almost  as  pale. 


THE    LILY'S    QUEST.  227 

As  they  passed,  hand  in  hand,  down  the  avenue  of 
drooping  elms,  that  led  from  the  portal  of  Lilias  Fay's 
paternal  mansion,  they  seemed  to  glance  like  winged 
creatures  through  the  strips  of  sunshine,  and  to  scatter 
brightness  where  the  deep  shadows  fell.  But,  setting 
forth  at  the  same  time  with  this  youthful  pair,  there  was 
a  dismal  figure,  wrapped  in  a  black  velvet  cloak  that 
might  have  been  made  of  a  coffin  pall,  and  with  a  sombre 
hat,  such  as  mourners  wear,  drooping  its  broad  brim 
over  his  heavy  brows.  Glancing  behind  them,  the  lovers 
well  knew  who  it  was  that  followed,  but  wished  from 
their  hearts  that  he  had  been  elsewhere,  as  being  a  com- 
panion so  strangely  unsuited  to  their  joyous  errand.  It 
was  a  near  relative  of  Lilias  Fay,  an  old  man  by  the  name 
of  Walter  Gascoigne,  who  had  long  labored  under  the 
burden  of  a  melancholy  spirit,  which  was  sometimes  mad- 
dened into  absolute  insanity,  and  always  had  a  tinge  of  it. 
What  a  contrast  between  the  young  pilgrims  of  bliss  and 
their  unbidden  associate  !  They  looked  as  if  moulded  of 
Heaven's  sunshine,  and  he  of  earth's  gloomiest  shade ; 
they  flitted  along  like  Hope  and  Joy,  roaming  hand  in 
hand  through  life;  while  his  darksome  figure  stalked 
behind,  a  type  of  all  the  woful  influences  which  life  could 
fling  upon  them.  But  the  three  had  not  gone  far,  when 
they  reached  a  spot  that  pleased  the  gentle  Lily,  and  she 
paused. 

"  What  sweeter  place  shall  we  find  than  this  ?  "  said 
she.  "  Why  should  we  seek  farther  for  the  site  of  our 
Temple  ?  " 

It  was  indeed  a  delightful  spot  of  earth,  though  undis- 
tinguished by  any  very  prominent  beauties,  being  merely 
a  nook  in  the  shelter  of  a  hill,  with  the  prospect  of  a 
distant  lake  in  one  direction,  and  of  a  church-spire  in 
another.  There  were  vistas  and  pathways,  leading  on- 


228  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

ward  and  onward  into  the  green  woodlands,  and  vanishing' 
away  in  the  glimmering  shade.  The  Temple,  if  erected 
here,  would  look  towards  the  west :  so  that  the  lovers 
could  shape  all  sorts  of  magnificent  dreams  out  of  the  pur- 
ple, violet,  and  gold  of  the  sunset  sky ;  and  few  of  their  an- 
ticipated pleasures  were  dearer  than  this  sport  of  fantasy. 

"  Yes,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  "  we  might  seek  all  day, 
and  find  no  lovelier  spot.  We  will  build  our  Temple 
here." 

But  their  sad  old  companion,  who  had  taken  his  stand 
on  the  very  site  which  they  proposed  to  cover  with  a 
marble  floor,  shook  his  head  and  frowned ;  and  the  young 
man  and  the  Lily  deemed  it  almost  enough  to  blight  the 
spot,  and  desecrate  it  for  their  airy  Temple,  that  his  dis- 
mal figure  had  thrown  its  shadow  there.  He  pointed  to 
some  scattered  stones,  the  remnants  of  a  former  struc- 
ture, and  to  flowers  such  as  young  girls  delight  to  nurse 
in  their  gardens,  but  which  had  now  relapsed  into  the 
wild  simplicity  of  nature. 

"  Not  here !  "  cried  old  Walter  Gascoigne.  "  Here, 
long  ago,  other  mortals  built  their  Temple  of  Happiness. 
Seek  another  site  for  yours  !  " 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Lilias  Fay.  "  Have  any  ever 
planned  such  a  Temple,  save  ourselves  ?  " 

"Poor  child!"  said  her  gloomy  kinsman.  "In  one 
shape  or  other,  every  mortal  has  dreamed  your  dream. 

Then  he  told  the  lovers,  how  —  not,  indeed,  an  antique 
Temple  —  but  a  dwelling  had  once  stood  there,  and  that 
a  dark-clad  guest  had  dwelt  among  its  inmates,  sitting 
forever  at  the  fireside,  and  poisoning  all  their  household 
mirth.  Under  this  type,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias  saw 
that  the  old  man  spake  of  Sorrow.  He  told  of  nothing 
that  might  not  be  recorded  in  the  history  of  almost  every 
household;  and  yet  his  hearers  felt  as  if  no  sunshine 


THE    LILY'S    QUEST.  229 

ought  to  fall  upon  a  spot  where  human  grief  had  left  so 
deep  a  stain ;  or,  at  least,  that  no  joyous  Temple  should 
be  built  there. 

"  This  is  very  sad,"  said  the  Lily,  sighing. 

"  Well,  there  are  lovelier  spots  than  this,"  said  Adam 
Forrester,  soothingly,  — "  spots  which  sorrow  has  not 
blighted:" 

So  they  hastened  away,  and  the  melancholy  Gascoigne 
followed  them,  looking  as  if  he  had  gathered  up  all  the 
gloom  of  the  deserted  spot,  and  was  bearing  it  as  a  bur- 
den of  inestimable  treasure.  But  still  they  rambled  on, 
and  soon  found  themselves  in  a  rocky  dell,  through  the 
midst  of  which  ran  a  streamlet,  with  ripple,  and  foam, 
and  a  continual  voice  of  inarticulate  joy.  It  was  a  wild 
retreat,  walled  on  either  side  with  gray  precipices,  which 
would  have  frowned  somewhat  too  sternly,  had  not  a 
profusion  of  green  shrubbery  rooted  itself  into  their  crev- 
ices, and  wreathed  gladsome  foliage  around  their  solemn 
brows.  But  the  chief  joy  of  the  dell  was  in  the  little 
stream,  which  seemed  like  the  presence  of  a  blissful  child, 
with  nothing  earthly  to  do  save  to  babble  merrily  and 
disport  itself,  and  make  every  living  soul  its  playfellow, 
and  throw  the  sunny  gleams  of  its  spirit  upon  all. 

"  Here,  here  is  the  spot !  "  cried  the  two  lovers  with 
one  voice,  as  they  reached  a  level  space  on  the  brink  of  a 
small  cascade.  "  This  glen  was  made  on  purpose  for  our 
Temple  !  " 

"  And  the  glad  song  of  the  brook  will  be  always  in  our 
ears,"  said  Lilias  Fay. 

"  And  its  long  melody  shall  sing  the  bliss  of  our  life- 
time," said  Adam  Forrester. 

"  Ye  must  build  no  Temple  here ! "  murmured  their 
dismal  companion. 

And  there  again  was  the  old  lunatic,  standing  just  on 


230  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

the  spot  where  they  meant  to  rear  their  lightsome  dome, 
and  looking  like  the  embodied  symbol  of  some  great  woe, 
that,  in  forgotten  days,  had  happened  there.  And,  alas  ! 
there  had  been  woe,  nor  that  alone.  A  young  man,  more 
than  a  hundred  years  before,  had  lured  hither  a  girl  that 
loved  him,  and  on  this  spot  had  murdered  her,  and  washed 
his  bloody  hands  in  the  stream  which  sung  so  merrily. 
And  ever  since,  the  victim's  death-shrieks  were  often 
heard  to  echo  between  the  cliffs. 

"  And  see  !  "  cried  old  Gascoigne,  "  is  the  stream  yet 
pure  from  the  stain  of  the  murderer's  hands  ?  " 

"  Methinks  it  has  a  tinge  of  blood,"  faintly  answered 
the  Lily ;  and  being  as  slight  as  the  gossamer,  she  trem- 
bled and  clung  to  her  lover's  arm,  whispering,  "let  us 
flee  from  this  dreadful  vale  !  " 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Adam  Forrester,  as  cheerily  as  he 
could ;  "  we  shall  soon  find  a  happier  spot." 

They  set  forth  again,  young  Pilgrims  on  that  quest 
which  millions  —  which  every  child  of  Earth  —  has  tried 
in  turn.  And  were  the  Lily  and  her  lover  to  be  more 
fortunate  than  all  those  millions  ?  For  a  long  time,  it 
seemed  not  so.  The  dismal  shape  of  the  old  lunatic  still 
glided  behind  them ;  and  for  every  spot  that  looked 
lovely  in  their  eyes,  he  had  some  legend  of  human  wrong 
or  suffering,  so  miserably  sad,  that  his  auditors  could 
never  afterwards  connect  the  idea  of  joy  with  the  place 
where  it  had  happened.  Here,  a  heart-broken  woman, 
kneeling  to  her  child,  had  been  spurned  from  his  feet ; 
here,  a  desolate  old  creature  had  prayed  to  the  Evil  One, 
and  had  received  a  fiendish  malignity  of  soul,  in  answer 
to  her  prayer ;  here,  a  new-born  infant,  sweet  blossom  of 
iife,  had  been  found  dead,  with  the  impress  of  its  moth- 
er's fingers  round  its  throat ;  and  here,  under  a  shattered 
oak,  two  lovers  had  been  stricken  by  lightning,  and  fell 


THE    LILY'S    QUEST.  231 

blackened  corpses  in  each  other's  arms.  The  dreary 
Gascoigne  had  a  gift  to  know  whatever  evil  and  lamenta- 
ble thing  had  stained  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth ;  and 
when  his  funereal  voice  had  told  the  tale,  it  appeared  like 
a  prophecy  of  future  woe,  as  well  as  a  tradition  of  the 
past.  And  now,  by  their  sad  demeanor,  you  would 
have  fancied  that  the  pilgrim  lovers  were  seeking,  not  a 
temple  of  earthly  joy,  but  a  tomb  for  themselves  and 
their  posterity. 

"  Where  in  this  world,"  exclaimed  Adam  Forrester, 
despondingly,  "shall  we  build  our  Temple  of  Happi- 
ness ? " 

"  Where  in  this  world,  indeed  ! "  repeated  Lilias  Fay ; 
and  being  faint  and  weary,  the  more  so  by  the  heaviness 
of  her  heart,  the  Lily  drooped  her  head  and  sat  down  on 
the  summit  of  a  knoll,  repeating,  "  Where  in  this  world 
shall  we  build  our  Temple  ?  " 

"  Ah !  have  you  already  asked  yourselves  that  ques- 
tion ?  "  said  their  companion,  his  shaded  features  grow- 
ing even  gloomier  with  the  smile  that  dwelt  on  them ; 
"  yet  there  is  a  place,  even  in  this  world,  where  ye  may 
build  it." 

While  the  old  man  spoke,  Adam  Forrester  and  Lilias 
had  carelessly  thrown  their  eyes  around,  and  perceived 
that  the  spot  where  they  had  chanced  to  pause  pos- 
sessed a  quiet  charm,  which  was  well  enough  adapted  to 
their  present  mood  of  mind.  It  was  a  small  rise  of 
ground,  with  a  certain  regularity  of  shape,  that  had  per- 
haps been  bestowed  by  art ;  and  a  group  of  trees,  which 
almost  surrounded  it,  threw  their  pensive  shadows  across 
and  far  beyond,  although  some  softened  glory  of  the 
sunshine  found  its  way  there.  The  ancestral  mansion, 
wherein  the  lovers  would  dwell  together,  appeared  on 
one  side,  and  the  ivied  church,  where  they  were  to  wor- 


232  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

ship,  on  another.  Happening  to  cast  their  eyes  on  the 
ground,  the}-  smiled,  yet  with  a  sense  of  wonder,  to  see 
that  a  pale  lily  was  growing  at  their  feet. 

"  We  will  build  our  Temple  here,"  said  t'hey,  simulta- 
neously, and  with  an  indescribable  conviction,  that  they 
had  at  last  found  the  very  spot. 

Yet,  while  they  uttered  this  exclamation,  the  young 
man  and  the  Lily  turned  an  apprehensive  glance  at  their 
dreary  associate,  deeming  it  hardly  possible,  that  some 
tale  of  earthly  affliction  should  not  make  those  precincts 
loathsome,  as  in  every  former  case.  The  old  man  stood 
just  behind  them,  so  as  to  form  the  chief  figure  in  the 
group,  with  his  sable  cloak  muffling  the  lower  part  of 
his  visage,  and  his  sombre  hat  overshadowing  his  brows. 
But  he  gave  no  word  of  dissent  from  their  purpose  ; 
and  an  inscrutable  smile  was  accepted  by  the  lovers 
as  a  token  that  here  had  been  no  footprint  of  guilt 
or  sorrow,  to  desecrate  the  site  of  their  Temple  of  Hap- 
piness. 

In  a  little  time  longer,  while  summer  was  still  in  its 
prime,  the  fairy  structure  of  the  Temple  arose  on  the 
summit  of  the  knoll,  amid  the  solemn  shadows  of  the 
trees,  yet  often  gladdened  with  bright  sunshine.  It  was 
built  of  white  marble,  with  slender  and  graceful  pillars, 
supporting  a  vaulted  dome ;  and  beneath  the  centre  of 
this  dome,  upon  a  pedestal,  was  a  slab  of  dark-veined 
marble,  on  which  books  and  music  might  be  strewn. 
But  there  was  a  fantasy  among  the  people  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, that  the  edifice  was  planned  after  an  ancient 
mausoleum,  and  was  intended  for  a  tomb,  and  that  the 
central  slab  of  dark -veined  marble  was  to  be  inscribed 
with  the  names  of  buried  ones.  They  doubted,  too, 
whether  the  form  of  Lilias  Fay  could  appertain  to  a 
creature  of  this  earth,  being  so  very  delicate,  and  grow- 


THE    LILY'S    QUEST.  233 

ing  every  day  more  fragile,  so  that  she  looked  as  if  the 
summer  breeze  should  snatch  her  up,  and  waft  her  heav- 
enward. But  still  she  watched  the  daily  growth  of  the 
Temple ;  and  so  did  old  Walter  Gascoigne,  who  now 
made  that  spot  his  continual  haunt,  leaning  whole  hours 
together  on  his  staff,  and  giving  as  deep  attention  to  the 
work  as  though  it  had  been  indeed  a  tomb.  In  due  time 
it  was  finished,  and  a  day  appointed  for  a  simple  rite  of 
dedication. 

On  the  preceding  evening,  after  Adam  Forrester  had 
taken  leave  of  his  mistress,  he  looked  back  towards  the 
portal  of  her  dwelling,  and  felt  a  strange  thrill  of  fear ; 
for  he  imagined  that,  as  the  setting  sunbeams  faded  from 
her  figure,  she  was  exhaling  away,  and  that  something  of 
her  ethereal  substance  was  withdrawn,  with  each  lessen- 
ing gleam  of  light.  With  his  farewell  glance,  a  shadow 
had  fallen  over  the  portal,  and  Lilias  was  invisible.  His 
foreboding  spirit  deemed  it  an  omen  at  the  time ;  and  so 
it  proved ;  for  the  sweet  earthly  form,  by  which  the  Lily 
had  been  manifested  to  the  world,  was  found  lifeless,  the 
next  morning,  in  the  Temple,  with  her  head  resting  on 
her  arms,  which  were  folded  upon  the  slab  of  dark-veined 
marble.  The  chill  winds  of  the  earth  had  long  since 
breathed  a  blight  into  this  beautiful  flower,  so  that  a 
loving  hand  had  now  transplanted  it,  to  blossom  brightly 
in  the  garden  of  Paradise. 

But,  alas  for  the  Temple  of  Happiness !  In  his  unut- 
terable grief,  Adam  Forrester  had  no  purpose  more  at 
heart  than  to  convert  this  Temple  of  many  delightful 
hopes  into  a  tomb,  and  bury  his  dead  mistress  there. 
And  lo  !  a  wonder !  Digging  a  grave  beneath  the  Tem- 
ple's marble  floor,  the  sexton  found  no  virgin  earth,  such 
as  was  meet  to  receive  the  maiden's  dust,  but  an  ancient 
sepulchre,  in  which  were  treasured  up  the  bones  of  geu- 


234  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

erations  that  had  died  long  ago.  Among  those  forgotten 
ancestors  was  the  Lily  to  be  laid.  And  when  the  funeral 
procession  brought  Lilias  thither  in  her  coffin,  they  beheld 
old  Walter  Gascoigne  standing  beneath  the  dome  of  the 
Temple,  with  his  cloak  of  pall,  and  face  of  darkest  gloom ; 
and  wherever  that  figure  might  take  its  stand,  the  spot 
would  seem  a  sepulchre.  He  watched  the  mourners  as 
they  lowered  the  coffin  down. 

"  And  so,"  said  he  to  Adam  Forrester,  with  the  strange 
smile  in  which  his  insanity  was  wont  to  gleam  forth,  "you 
hare  found  no  better  foundation  for  your  happiness  than 
on  a  grave  !  " 

But  as  the  Shadow  of  Affliction  spoke,  a  vision  of 
Hope  and  Joy  had  its  birth  in  Adam's  mind,  even  from 
the  old  man's  taunting  words ;  for  then  he  knew  what 
was  betokened  by  the  parable  in  which  the  Lily  and  him- 
self had  acted ;  and  the  mystery  of  Life  and  Death  was 
opened  to  him. 

"  Joy !  joy !  "  he  cried,  throwing  his  arms  towards 
Heaven,  "  on  a  grave  be  the  site  of  our  Temple ;  and 
now  our  happiness  is  for  Eternity ! " 

With  those  words,  a  ray  of  sunshine  broke  through 
the  dismal  sky,  and  glimmered  down  into  the  sepulchre ; 
while,  at  the  same  moment,  the  shape  of  old  Walter 
Gascoigne  stalked  drearily  away,  because  his  gloom, 
symbolic  of  all  earthly  sorrow,  might  no  longer  abide 
there,  now  that  the  darkest  riddle  of  humanity  was  read. 


FOOTPRINTS   ON  THE   SEA-SHORE. 

|T  must  be  a  spirit  much  unlike  my  own,  which 
can  keep  itself  in  health  and  vigor  without 
sometimes  stealing  from  the  sultry  sunshine  of 
the  world,  to  plunge  into  the  cool  bath  of  solitude.  At 
intervals,  and  not  infrequent  ones,  the  forest  and  the 
ocean  summon  me  —  one  with  the  roar  of  its  waves,  the 
other  with  the  murmur  of  its  boughs  —  forth  from  the 
haunts  of  men.  But  I  must  wander  many  a  mile,  ere  I 
could  stand  beneath  the  shadow  of  even  one  primeval 
tree,  much  less  be  lost  among  the  multitude  of  hoary 
trunks,  and  hidden  from  earth  and  sky  by  the  mystery 
of  darksome  foliage.  Nothing  is  within  my  daily  reach 
more  like  a  forest  than  the  acre  or  two  of  woodland  near 
some  suburban  farm-house.  When,  therefore,  the  yearn- 
ing for  seclusion  becomes  a  necessity  within  me,  I  am 
drawn  to  the  sea-shore,  which  extends  its  line  of  rude 
rocks  and  seldom-trodden  sands,  for  leagues  around  our 
bay.  Setting  forth  at  my  last  ramble,  on  a  September 
morning,  I  bound  myself  with  a  hermit's  vow,  to  inter- 
change no  thoughts  with  man  or  woman,  to  share  no 
social  pleasure,  but  to  derive  all  that  day's  enjoyment 
from  shore,  and  sea,  and  sky,  —  from  my  soul's  commun- 
ion with  these,  and  from  fantasies,  and  recollections,  or 
anticipated  realities.  Surely  here  is  enough  to  feed  a 


236  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

human  spirit  for  a  single  day.  Farewell,  then,  busy 
world !  Till  your  evening  lights  shall  shine  along  the 
street,  —  till  they  gleajn  upon  my  sea-flushed  face,  as  I 
tread  homeward,  —  free  me  from  your  ties, 'and  let  me 
be  a  peaceful  outlaw. 

Highways  and  cross-paths  are  hastily  traversed,  and, 
clambering  down  a  crag,  I  find  myself  at  the  extremity 
of  a  long  beach.  How  gladly  does  the  spirit  leap  forth, 
and  suddenly  enlarge  its  sense  of  being  to  the  full  extent 
of  the  broad,  blue,  sunny  deep  !  A  greeting  and  a  hom- 
age to  the  Sea  !  I  descend  over  its  margin,  and  dip  my 
hand  into  the  wave  that  meets  me,  and  bathe  my  brow. 
That  far-resounding  roar  is  Ocean's  voice  of  welcome. 
His  salt  breath  brings  a  blessing  along  with  it.  Now  let 
us  pace  together  —  the  reader's  fancy  arm  in  arm  with 
mine  —  this  noble  beach,  which  extends  a  mile  or  more 
from  that  craggy  promontory  to  yonder  rampart  of  broken 
rocks.  In  front,  the  sea ;  in  the  rear,  a  precipitous  bank, 
the  grassy  verge  of  which  is  breaking  away,  year  after 
year,  and  flings  down  its  tufts  of  verdure  upon  the  bar- 
renness below.  The  beach  itself  is  a  broad  space  of  sand, 
brown  and  sparkling,  with  hardly  any  pebbles  intermixed. 
Near  the  water's  edge  there  is  a  wet  margin,  which  glis- 
tens brightly  in  the  sunshine,  and  reflects  objects  like  a 
mirror ;  and  as  we  tread  along  the  glistening  border,  a 
dry  spot  flashes  around  each  footstep,  but  grows  moist 
again,  as  we  lift  our  feet.  In  some  spots,  the  sand 
receives  a  complete  impression  of  the  sole,  square  toe 
and  all ;  elsewhere  it  is  of  such  marble  firmness,  that  we 
must  stamp  heavily  to  leave  a  print  even  of  the  iron-shod 
heel.  Along  the  whole  of  this  extensive  beach  gambols 
the  surf  wave :  now  it  makes  a  feint  of  dashing  onward 
in  a  fury,  yet  dies  away  with  a  meek  murmur,  and  does 
but  kiss  the  strand;  now,  after  rnauy  such  abortive  ef- 


FOOTPRINTS   ON   THE    SEA-SHORE.          237 

forts,  it  rears  itself  up  in  an  unbroken  line,  heightening 
as  it  advances,  without  a  speck  of  foam  on  its  green  crest. 
With  how  fierce  a  roar  it  flings  itself  forward,  and  rushes 
far  up  the  beach  ! 

As  I  threw  my  eyes  along  the  edge  of  the  surf,  I 
remember  that  I  was  startled,  as  Robinson  Crusoe  might 
have  been,  by  the  sense  that  human  life  was  within  the 
magic  circle  of  my  solitude.  Afar  off  in  the  remote  dis- 
tance of  the  beach,  appearing  like  sea-nymphs,  or  some 
airier  tilings,  such  as  might  tread  upon  the  feathery 
spray,  was  a  group  of  girls.  Hardly  had  I  beheld  them, 
when  they  passed  into  the  shadow  of  the  rocks  and  van- 
ished. To  comfort  myself — for  truly  I  would  fain  have 
gazed  a  while  longer  —  I  made  acquaintance  with  a  flock 
of  beach  birds.  These  little  citizens  of  the  sea  and  air 
preceded  me  by  about  a  stone's-throw  along  the  strand, 
seeking,  I  suppose,  for  food  upon  its  margin.  Yet,  with 
a  philosophy  which  mankind  would  do  well  to  imitate, 
they  drew  a  continual  pleasure  from  their  toil  for  a  sub, 
sistencc.  The  sea  was  each  little  bird's  great  playmate. 
They  chased  it  downward  as  it  swept  back,  and  again 
ran  up  swiftly  before  the  impending  wave,  which  some- 
times overtook  them  and  bore  them  off  their  feet.  But 
they  floated  as  lightly  as  one  of  their  own  feathers  on 
the  breaking  crest.  In  their  airy  flutterings,  they  seemed 
to  rest  on  the  evanescent  spray.  Their  images  —  long- 
legged  little  figures,  with  gray  backs  and  snowy  bos- 
oms —  were  seen  as  distinctly  as  the  realities  in  the 
mirror  of  the  glistening  strand.  As  I  advanced,  they 
flew  a  score  or  two  of  yards,  and,  again  alighting,  recom- 
menced  their  dalliance  with  the  surf  wave;  and  thus  they 
bore  me  company  along  the  beach,  the  types  of  pleasant 
fantasies,  till,  at  its  extremity,  they  took  wing  over  the 
ocean,  and  were  gone.  After  forming  a  friendship  with 


238  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

these  small  surf-spirits,  it  is  really  worth  a  sigh,  to  find 
no  memorial  of  them,  save  their  multitudinous  little 
tracks  in  the  sand. 

When  we  have  paced  the  length  of  the  beach,  it  is 
pleasant,  and  not  unprofitable,  to  retrace  our  steps,  and 
recall  the  whole  mood  and  occupation  of  the  mind 
during  the  former  passage.  Our  tracks,  being  all  dis- 
cernible, will  guide  us  with  an  observing  consciousness 
through  every  unconscious  wandering  of  thought  and 
fancy.  Here  we  followed  the  surf  in  its  reflux,  to  pick 
up  a  shell  which  the  sea  seemed  loath  to  relinquish. 
Here  we  found  a  sea- weed,  with  an  immense  brown  leaf, 
and  trailed  it  behind  us  by  its  long  snake-like  stalk. 
Here  we  seized  a  live  horseshoe  by  the  tail,  and  counted 
the  many  claws  of  the  queer  monster.  Here  we  dug 
into  the  sand  for  pebbles,  and  skipped  them  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Here  we  wet  our  feet  while  ex- 
amining a  jelly-fish,  which  the  waves,  having  just  tossed 
it  up,  now  sought  to  snatch  away  again.  Here  we  trod 
along  the  brink  of  a  fresh-water  brooklet,  which  flows 
across  the  beach,  becoming  shallower  and  more  shallow, 
till  at  last  it  sinks  into  the  sand,  and  perishes  in  the 
effort  to  bear  its  little  tribute  to  the  main.  Here  some 
vagary  appears  to  have  bewildered  us;  for  our  tracks 
go  round  and  round,  and  are  confusedly  intermingled, 
as  if  we  had  found  a  labyrinth  upon  the  level  beach. 
And  here,  amid  our  idle  pastime,  we  sat  down  upon 
almost  the  only  stone  that  breaks  the  surface  of  the 
sand,  and  were  lost  in  an  unlooked-for  and  overpowering 
conception  of  the  majesty  and  awfulness  of  the  great 
deep.  Thus,  by  tracking  our  footprints  in  the  sand,  we 
track  our  own  nature  in  its  wayward  course,  and  steal 
a  glance  upon  it,  when  it  never  dreams  of  being  so 
observed.  Such  glances  always  make  us  wiser. 


FOOTPRINTS   ON   THE   SEA-SHORE.          239 

This  extensive  beach  affords  room  for  another  pleasant 
pastime.  With  your  staff  you  may  write  verses  —  love- 
vei'ses,  if  they  please  you  best  —  and  consecrate  them 
•with  a  woman's  name.  Here,  too,  may  be  inscribed 
thoughts,  feelings,  desires,  warm  outgushiugs  from  the 
heart's  secret  places,  which  you  would  not  pour  upon 
the  sand  without  the  certainty  that,  almost  ere  the  sky 
has  looked  upon  them,  the  sea  will  wash  them  out. 
Stir  not  hence  till  the  record  be  effaced.  Now  —  for 
there  is  room  enough  on  your  canvas  —  draw  huge 
faces,  —  huge  as  that  of  the  Sphinx  on  Egyptian  sands, 
—  and  fit  them  with  bodies  of  corresponding  immensity, 
and  legs  which  might  stride  half-way  to  yonder  island. 
Child's  play  becomes  magnificent  on  so  grand  a  scale. 
But,  after  all,  the  most  fascinating  employment  is  sim- 
ply to  write  your  name  in  the  sand.  Draw  the  letters 
gigantic,  so  that  two  strides  may  barely  measure  them, 
and  three  for  the  long  strokes  !  Cut  deep,  that  the  rec- 
ord may  be  permanent !  Statesmen,  and  warriors,  and 
poets  have  spent  their  strength  in  no  better  cause  than 
this.  Is  it  accomplished  ?  Return,  then,  in  an  hour  or 
two,  and  seek  for  this  mighty  record  of  a  name.  The 
sea  will  have  swept  over  it,  even  as  time  rolls  its  effacing 
waves  over  Ilic  names  of  statesmen,  and  warriors,  and 
poets.  Hark,  the  surf  wave  laughs  at  you ! 

Passing  from  the  beach,  I  begin  to  clamber  over  the 
crags,  making  my  difficult  way  among  the  ruins  of  a 
rampart,  shattered  and  broken  by  the  assaults  of  a 
fierce  enemy.  The  rocks  rise  in  every  variety  of  atti- 
tude ;  some  of  them  have  their  feet  in  the  foam,  and 
are  shagged  half-way  upward  with  sea-weed ;  some  have 
been  hollowed  almost  into  caverns  by  the  unwearied  toil 
of  the  sea,  which  can  afford  to  spend  centuries  in  wear- 
ing away  a  rock,  or  even  polishing  a  pebble.  One  huge 


240  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

rock  ascends  in  monumental  shape,  with  a  face  like  a 
giant's  tombstone,  on  which  the  veins  resemble  inscrip- 
tions, but  in  an  unknown  tongue.  We  will  fancy  them 
the  forgotten  characters  of  an  antediluvian  race;  or 
else  that  Nature's  own  hand  has  here  recorded  a  mys- 
tery, which,  could  I  read  her  language,  would  make 
mankind  the  wiser  and  the  happier.  How  many  a  thing 
has  troubled  me  with  that  same  idea  !  Pass  on,  and 
leave  it  unexplained.  Here  is  a  narrow  avenue,  which 
might  seem  to  have  been  hewn  through  the  very  heart 
of  an  enormous  crag,  affording  passage  for  the  rising 
sea  to  thunder  back  and  forth,  filling  it  with  tumultuous 
foam,  and  then  leaving  its  floor  of  black  pebbles  bare 
and  glistening.  In  this  chasm  there  was  once  an  inter- 
secting vein  of  softer  stone,  which  the  waves  have 
gnawed  away  piecemeal,  while  the  granite  walls  re- 
main entire  on  either  side.  How  sharply,  and  with 
what  harsh  clamor,  does  the  sea  rake  back  the  pebbles, 
as  it  momentarily  withdraws  into  its  own  depths  !  At 
intervals,  the  floor  of  the  chasm  is  left  nearly  dry ;  but 
anon,  at  the  outlet,  two  or  three  great  waves  are  seen 
struggling  to  get  in  at  once  ;  two  hit  the  walls  athwart, 
while  one  rushes  straight  through,  and  all  three  thun- 
der, as  if  with  rage  and  triumph.  They  heap  the  chasm 
with  a  snow-drift  of  foam  and  spray.  While  watching 
this  scene,  I  can  never  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that  a 
monster,  endowed  with  life  and  fierce  energy,  is  striv- 
ing to  burst  his  way  through  the  narrow  pass.  And 
what  a  contrast,  to  look  through  the  stormy  chasm,  aild 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  calm  bright  sea  beyond  ! 

Many  interesting  discoveries  may  be  made  among 
these  broken  cliffs.  Once,  for  example,  I  found  a  dead 
seal,  which  a  recent  tempest  had  tossed  into  the  nook  of 
the  rocks,  where  his  shaggy  carcass  lay  rolled  in  a  heap 


FOOTPRINTS    ON   THE    SEA-SHORE.          241 

of  eel-grass,  as  if  the  sea-monster  sought  to  hide  himself 
from  my  eye.  Another  time,  a  shark  seemed  on  the 
point  of  leaping  from  the  surf  to  swallow  me ;  nor  did 
I  wholly  without  dread  approach  near  enough  to  ascer- 
tain that  the  man-eater  had  already  met  his  own  death 
from  some  fisherman  in  the  bay.  In  the  same  ramble, 
I  encountered  a  bird,  — a  large  gray  bird,  — but  whether 
a  loon,  or  a  wild  goose,  or  the  identical  albatross  of  the 
Ancient  Mariner,  was  beyond  my  ornithology  to  decide. 
It  reposed  so  naturally  on  a  bed  of  dry  sea-weed,  with 
its  head  beside  its  wing,  that  I  almost  fancied  it  alive, 
and  trod  softly  lest  it  should  suddenly  spread  its  wings 
skyward.  But  the  sea-bird  would  soar  among  the  clouds 
no  more,  nor  ride  upon  its  native  waves  ;  so  I  drew 
near,  and  pulled  out  one  of  its  mottled  tail-feathers  for 
a  remembrance.  Another  day,  I  discovered  an  immense 
bone,  wedged  into  a  chasm  of  the  rocks ;  it  was  at  least 
ten  feet  long,  curved  like  a  cimeter,  bejewelled  with  bar- 
iracles  and  small  shell-fish,  and  partly  covered  with  a 
growth  of  sea-weed.  Some  leviathan  of  former  ages  had 
used  this  ponderous  mass  as  a  jawbone.  Curiosities  of 
a  minuter  order  may  be  observed  in  a  deep  reservoir, 
which  is  replenished  with  water  at  every  tide,  but  be- 
comes a  lake  among  the  crags,  save  when  the  sea  is  at 
its  height.  At  the  bottom  of  this  rocky  basin  grow  ma- 
rine plants,  some  of  which  tower  high  beneath  the  water, 
and  cast  a  shadow  in  the  sunshine.  Small  fishes  dart  to 
and  fro,  and  hide  themselves  among  the  sea-weed ;  there 
is  also  a  solitary  crab,  who  appears  to  lead  the  life  of  a 
hermit,  communing  with  none  of  the  other  denizens  of 
t  lie  place  ;  and  likewise  several  five-fingers,  —  for  I  know 
no  other  name  than  that  which  children  give  them.  If 
your  imagination  be  at  all  accustomed  to  such  freaks, 
you  may  look  down  into  the  depths  of  this  pool,  and 

VOL.   II.  11  P 


242  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

fancy  it  the  mysterious  depth  of  ocean.  But  where  are 
the  hulks  and  scattered  timbers  of  sunken  ships?  — 
where  the  treasures  that  old  Ocean  hoards  ?  —  where 
the  corroded  cannon  ?  —  where  the  corpses  and  skeletons 
of  seamen,  who  went  down  in  storm  and  battle  ? 

On  the  day  of  my  last  ramble  (it  was  a  September 
day,  yet  as  warm  as  summer),  what  should  I  behold  as 
I  approached  the  above-described  basin  but  three  girls 
sitting  on  its  margin,  and  —  yes,  it  is  veritably  so  — 
laving  their  snowy  feet  in  the  sunny  water  !  These, 
these  are  the  warm  realities  of  those  three  visionary 
shapes  that  flitted  from  me  on  the  beach.  Hark  !  their 
merry  voices,  as  they  toss  up  the  water  with  their  feet ! 
They  have  not  seen  me.  I  must  shrink  behind  this  rock, 
and  steal  away  again. 

In  honest  truth,  vowed  to  solitude  as  I  am,  there  is 
something  in  this  encounter  that  makes  the  heart  flutter 
with  a  strangely  pleasant  sensation.-  I  know  these  girls 
to  be  realities  of  flesh  and  blood,  yet,  glancing  at  them 
so  briefly,  they  mingle  like  kindred  creatures  with  the 
ideal  beings  of  my  mind.  It  is  pleasant,  likewise,  to 
gaze  down  from  some  high  crag,  and  watch  a  group  of 
children,  gathering  pebbles  and  pearly  shells,  and  playing 
with  the  surf,  as  with  old  Ocean's  hoary  beard.  Nor 
does  it  infringe  upon  my  seclusion,  to  see  yonder  boat 
at  anchor  off  the  shore,  swinging  dreamily  to  and  fro, 
and  rising  and  sinking  with  the  alternate  swell ;  while 
the  crew  —  four  gentlemen,  in  roundabout  jackets  — 
are  busy  with  their  fishing-lines.  But,  with  an  inward 
antipathy  and  a  headlong  flight,  do  I  eschew  the  pres- 
ence of  any  meditative  stroller  like  myself,  known  by 
his  pilgrim  staff,  his  sauntering  step,  his  shy  demeanor, 
his  observant  yet  abstracted  eye.  From  such  a  man, 
as  if  another  self  had  scared  me,  I  scramble  hastily  over 


FOOTPKINTS    ON    THE    SEA-SHORE.          243 

the  rocks,  and  take  refuge  in  a  nook  which  many  a 
secret  hour  has  given  me  a  right  to  call  my  own.  I 
would  do  battle  for  it  even  with  the  churl  that  should 
produce  the  title-deeds.  Have  not  my  musings  melted 
into  its  rocky  walls  and  sandy  floor,  and  made  them  a 
portion  of  myself? 

It  is  a  recess  in  the  line  of  cliffs,  walled  round  by  a 
rough,  high  precipice,  which  almost  encircles  and  shuts 
in  a  little  space  of  sand.  In  front,  the  sea  appears  as 
between  the  pillars  of  a  portal.  In  the  rear,  the  precu 
pice  is  broken  and  intermixed  with  earth,  which  gives 
nourishment  not  only  to  clinging  and  twining  shrubs, 
but  to  trees,  that  gripe  the  rock  with  their  naked  roots, 
and  seem  to  struggle  hard  for  footing  and  for  soil 
enough  to  live  upon.  These  are  fir-trees;  but  oaks 
hang  their  heavy  branches  from  above,  and  throw  down 
acorns  on  the  beach,  and  shed  their  withering  foliage 
upon  the  waves.  At  this  autumnal  season,  the  precipice 
is  decked  with  variegated  splendor ;  trailing  wreaths  of 
scarlet  flaunt  from  the  summit  downward ;  tufts  of  yellow- 
flowering  shrubs,  and  rose-bushes,  with  their  reddened 
leaves  and  glossy  seed-berries,  sprout  from  each  crevice  ; 
at  every  glance,  I  detect  some  new  light  or  sha/le  of 
beauty,  all  contrasting  with  the  stern,  gray  rock.  A 
rill  of  water  trickles  down  the  cliff  and  fills  a  little  cis- 
tern near  the  base.  I  drain  it  at  a  draught,  and  find  it 
fresh  and  pure.  This  recess  shall  be  my  dining-hall. 
And  what  the  feast  ?  A  few  biscuits,  made  savory  by 
soaking  them  in  sea-water,  a  tuft  of  samphire  gathered 
from  the  beach,  and  an  apple  for  the  dessert.  By  this 
time,  the  little  rill  has  filled  its  reservoir  again ;  and,  as 
I  quaff  it,  I  thank  God  more  heartily  than  for  a  civic 
banquet,  that  he  gives  me  the  healthful  appetite  to  make 
a  feast  of  bread  and  water. 


244  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Dinner  being  over,  I  throw  myself  at  length  upon  the 
sand,  and,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  let  my  mind  disport 
itself  at  will.  The  walls  of  this  my  hermitage  have  no 
tongue  to  tell  my  follies,  though  I  sometimes  fancy  that 
they  have  ears  to  hear  them,  and  a  soul  to  sympathize. 
There  is  a  magic  in  this  spot.  Dreams  haunt  its  pre- 
cincts, and  flit  around  me  in  broad  sunlight,  nor  require 
that  sleep  shall  blindfold  me  to  real  objects,  ere  these  be 
visible.  Here  can  I  frame  a  story  of  two  lovers,  and 
make  their  shadows  live  before  me,  and  be  mirrored  in 
the  tranquil  water,  as  they  tread  along  the  sand,  leaving 
no  footprints.  Here,  should  I  will  it,  I  can  summon  up 
a  single  shade,  and  be  myself  her  lover.  Yes,  dreamer, 
—  but  your  lonely  heart  will  be  the  colder  for  such 
fancies.  Sometimes,  too,  the  Past  comes  back,  and  finds 
me  here,  and  in  her  train  come  faces  which  were  glad- 
some, when  I  knew  them,  yet  seem  not  gladsome  now. 
Would  that  my  hiding-place  were  lonelier,  so  that  the 
past  might  not  find  me !  Get  ye  all  gone,  old  friends, 
and  let  me  listen  to  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  —  a  melan- 
choly voice,  but  less  sad  than  yours.  Of  what  mysteries 
is  it  telling  ?  Of  sunken  ships,  and  whereabouts  they 
lie  ?  x  Of  islands  afar  and  undiscovered,  whose  tawny 
children  are  unconscious  of  other  islands  and  of  conti- 
nents, and  deem  the  stars  of  heaven  their  nearest  neigh- 
bors ?  Nothing  of  all  this.  What  then  ?  Has  it  talked 
for  so  many  ages,  and  meant  nothing  all  the  while? 
No ;  for  those  ages  find  utterance  in  the  sea's  unchanging 
voice,  and  warn  the  listener  to  withdraw  his  interest 
from  mortal  vicissitudes,  and  let  the  infinite  idea  of  eter- 
nity pervade  his  soul.  This  is  wisdom ;  and,  therefore, 
will  I  spend  the  next  half-hour  in  shaping  little  boats 
of  drift-wood,  and  launching  them  on  voyages  across  the 
cove,  with  the  feather  of  a  sea-gull  for  a  sail.  If  the 


FOOTPRINTS    ON    THE    SEA-SHORE.  245 

voice  of  ages  tell  me  true,  this  is  as  wise  an  occupation 
as  to  build  ships  of  five  hundred  tons,  and  launch  them 
forth  upon  the  main,  bound  to  "  far  Cathay."  Yet,  how 
would  the  merchant  sneer  at  me  ! 

And,  after  all,  can  such  philosophy  be  true  ?  Me- 
thiiiks  I  could  find  a  thousand  arguments  against  it. 
Well,  then,  let  yonder  shaggy  rock,  mid-deep  in  the  surf, 
—  see  !  he  is  somewhat  wrathful,  —  he  rages  and  roars 
and  foams,  —  let  that  tall  rock  be  my  antagonist,  and  let 
me  exercise  my  oratory  like  him  of  Athens,  who  bandied 
words  with  an  angry  sea  and  got  the  victory.  My  maiden 
speecli  is  a  triumphant  one ;  for  the  gentleman  in  sea- weed 
has  nothing  to  oifer  in  reply,  save  an  immitigable  roaring. 
His  voice,  indeed,  will  be  heard  a  long  while  after  mine 
is  hushed.  Once  more  I  shout,  and  the  cliffs  reverberate 
the  sound.  O,  what  joy  for  a  shy  man  to  feel  himself  so 
solitary,  that  he  may  lift  his  voice  to  its  highest  pitch 
without  hazard  of  a  listener  !  But,  hush  !  —  be  silent, 
my  good  friend  !  —  whence  comes  that  stifled  laughter  ? 
It  was  musical,  — but  how  should  there  be  such  music  in 
my  solitude?  Looking  upwards,  I  catch  a  glimpse  of 
three  faces,  peeping  from  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  like 
angels  between  me  and  their  native  sky.  Ah,  fair  girls, 
you  may  make  yourselves  merry  at  my  eloquence,  —  but 
it  was  my  turn  to  smile  when  I  saw  your  white  feet  in 
the  pool !  Let  us  keep  each  other's  secrets. 

The  sunshine  has  now  passed  from  my  hermitage,  ex- 
cept a  gleam  upon  the  sand  just  where  it  meets  the  sea. 
A  crowd  of  gloomy  fantasies  will  come  and  haunt  me,  if 
I  tarry  longer  here,  in  the  darkening  twilight  of  these 
gray  rocks.  This  is  a  dismal  place  in  some  moods  of 
the  mind.  Climb  wo,  then-lore-,  the  preeipice,  and  pause. 
a  moment  on  the  brink,  g.'izing  down  into  that  hollow 
chamber  by  the  deep  where  we  have  been,  what  few  can 


246  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

be,  sufficient  to  our  own  pastime,  —  yes,  say  the  word 
outright !  —  self-sufficient  to  our  own  happiness.  How 
lonesome  looks  the  recess  now,  and  dreary,  too,  —  like  all 
other  spots  where  happiness  has  been !  There  lies  my 
shadow  in  the  departing  sunshine  with  its  head  upon  the 
sea.  I  will  pelt  it  with  pebbles.  A  hit !  a  hit !  I  clap 
my  hands  in  triumph,  and  see !  my  shadow  clapping  its 
unreal  hands,  and  claiming  the  triumph  for  itself.  What 
a  simpleton  must  I  have  been  all  day,  since  my  own 
shadow  makes  a  mock  of  my  fooleries ! 

Homeward  !  homeward  !  It  is  time  to  hasten  home. 
It  is  time ;  it  is  time ;  for  as  the  sun  sinks  over  the 
western  wave,  the  sea  grows  melancholy,  and  the  surf 
has  a  saddened  tone.  The  distant  sails  appear  astray, 
and  not  of  earth,  in  their  remoteness  amid  the  desolate 
waste.  My  spirit  wanders  forth  afar,  but  finds  no  rest- 
ing-place, and  comes  shivering  back.  It  is  time  that  I 
were  hence.  But  grudge  me  not  the  day  that  has  been 
spent  in  seclusion,  which  yet  was  not  solitude,  since  the 
great  sea  has  been  my  companion,  and  the  little  sea-birds 
my  friends,  and  the  wind  has  told  me  his  secrets,  and 
airy  shapes  have  flitted  around  me  in  my  hermitage. 
Such  companionship  works  an  effect  upon  a  man's  char- 
acter, as  if  he  had  been  admitted  to  the  society  of  crea- 
tures that  are  not  mortal.  And  when,  at  noontide,  I 
tread  the  crowded  streets,  the  influence  of  this  day  will 
still  be  felt ;  so  that  I  shall  walk  among  men  kindly  and 
as  a  brother,  with  affection  and  sympathy,  but  yet  shall 
not  melt  into  the  indistinguishable  mass  of  humankind. 
I  shall  think  my  own  thoughts,  and  feel  my  own  emotions, 
and  possess  my  individuality  unviolated. 

But  it  is  good,  at  the  eve  of  such  a  day,  to  feel  and 
know  that  there  are  men  and  women  in  the  world.  That 
feeling  and  that  knowledge  are  mine,  at  this  moment  ; 


FOOTPRINTS    ON    THE    SEA-SHORE.  247 

for,  on  the  shore,  far  below  me,  the  fishing-party  have 
landed  from  their  skiff,  and  are  cooking  their  scaly  prey 
by  a  fire  of  drift-wood,  kindled  in  the  angle  of  two  rude 
rocks.  The  three  visionary  girls  are  likewise  there.  In 
the  deepening  twilight,  while  the  surf  is  dashed  near  their 
heartu,  the  ruddy  gleam  of  the  fire  throws  a  strange  air 
of  comfort  over  the  wild  cove,  bestrewn  as  it  is  with  peb- 
bles and  sea-weed,  and  exposed  to  the  "  melancholy  main." 
Moreover,  as  the  smoke  climbs  up  the  precipice,  it  brings 
with  it  a  savory  smell  from  a  pan  of  fried  fish,  and  a  black 
kettle  of  chowder,  and  reminds  me  that  my  dinner  was 
nothing  but  bread  and  water,  and  a  tuft  of  samphire, 
and  an  apple.  Methinks  the  party  might  find  room  for 
another  guest,  at  that  flat  rock  which  serves  them  for  a 
table ;  and  if  spoons  be  scarce,  I  could  pick  up  a  clam- 
shell on  the  beach.  They  see  me  now  ;  and  —  the  bless- 
ing of  a  hungry  man  upon  him  !  —  one  of  them  sends  up 
a  hospitable  shout,  —  halloo,  Sir  Solitary  !  conie  down  and 
sup  with  us  !  The  ladies  wave  their  handkerchiefs.  Can 
I  decline  ?  No  ;  and  be  it  owned,  after  all  my  solitary 
joys,  that  this  is  the  sweetest  moment  of  a  Day  by  the 
Sea-shore. 


EDWARD  PANE'S  ROSEBUD. 

[ERE  is  hardly  a  more  difficult  exercise  of  fancy, 
than,  while  gazing  at  a  figure  of  melancholy  age, 
to  re-create  its  youth,  and,  without  entirely  ob- 
literating the  identity  of  form  and  features,  to  restore 
those  graces  which  time  has  snatched  away.  Some  old 
people,  especially  women,  so  age-worn  and  woful  are 
they,  seem  never  to  have  been  young  and  gay.  It  is 
easier  to  conceive  that  such  gloomy  phantoms  were  sent 
into  the  world  as  withered  and  decrepit  as  we  behold 
them  now,  with  sympathies  only  for  pain  and  grief,  to 
watch  at  death-beds,  and  weep  at  funerals.  Even  the 
sable  garments  of  their  widowhood  appear  essential  to 
their  existence;  all  their  attributes  combine  to  "render 
them  darksome  shadows,  creeping  strangely  amid  the 
sunshine  of  human  life.  Yet  it  is  no  unprofitable  task, 
to  take  one  of  these  doleful  creatures,  and  set  fancy  reso- 
lutely at  work  to  brighten  the  dim  eye,  and  darken  the 
silvery  locks,  and  paint  the  ashen  cheek  with  rose-color, 
and  repair  the  shrunken  and  crazy  form,  till  a  dewy 
maiden  shall  be  seen  in  the  old  matron's  elbow-chair. 
The  miracle  being  wrought,  then  let  the  years  roll  back 
again,  each  sadder  than  the  last,  and  the  whole  weight  oi 
age  and  sorrow  settle  down  upon  the  youthful  figure. 
Wrinkles  and  furrows,  the  handwriting  of  Time,  may 


EDWARD    FANE'S    ROSEBUD.  249 

thus  be  deciphered,  and  found  to  contain  deep  lessons  of 
thought  and  feeling.  Such  profit  might  be  derived,  by 
a  skilful  observer,  from  my  much-respected  friend,  the 
Widow  Toothaker,  a  nurse  of  great  repute,  who  has 
breathed  the  atmosphere  of  sick-chambers  and  dying 
breaths  these  forty  years. 

See  !  she  sits  cowering  over  her  lonesome  hearth,  with 
her  gown  and  upper  petticoat  drawn  upward,  gathering 
thriftily  into  her  person  the  whole  warmth  of  the  fire, 
which,  now  at  nightfall,  begins  to  dissipate  the  autumnal 
chill  of  her  chamber.  The  blaze  quivers  capriciously  in 
front,  alternately  glimmering  into  the  deepest  chasms  of 
her  wrinkled  visage,  and  then  permitting  a  ghostly  dim- 
ness to  mar  the  outlines  of  her  venerable  figure.  And 
Nurse  Toothaker  holds  a  teaspoon  in  her  right  hand, 
with  which  to  stir  up  the  contents  of  a  tumbler  in  her 
left,  whence  steams  a  vapory  fragrance,  abhorred  of  tem- 
perance societies.  Now  she  sips,  —  now  stirs,  —  now 
sips  again.  Her  sad  old  heart  has  need  to  be  revived  by 
the  rich  infusion  of  Geneva,  which  is  mixed  half  and  half 
with  hot  water,  in  the  tumbler.  All  day  long  she  has 
been  sitting  by  a  death-pillow,  and  quitted  it  for  her 
home,  only  when  the  spirit  of  her  patient  left  the  clay 
and  went  homeward  too.  But  now  are  her  melancholy 
meditations  cheered,  and  her  torpid  blood  warmed,  and 
her  shoulders  lightened  of  at  least  twenty  ponderous 
years,  by  a  draught  from  the  true  Fountain  of  Youth,  in 
a  case-bottle.  It  is  strange  that  men  should  deem  that 
fount  a  fable  when  its  liquor  fills  more  bottles  than  the 
Congress-water!  Sip  it  again,  good  nurse,  and  see 
whether  a  second  draught  will  not  take  off  another  score 
of  years,  and  perhaps  ten  more,  and  show  us,  in  your 
high-backed  chair,  the  blooming  damsel  who  plighted 
troths  with  Edward  Faue.  Get  you  gone,  Age  and 


250  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

Widowhood  !  Come  back,  unwedded  Youth  !  But, 
alas  !  the  charm  will  not  work.  In  spite  of  fancy's  most 
potent  spell,  I  can  see  only  an  old  dame  cowering  over 
the  fire,  a  picture  of  decay  and  desolation,  while  the 
November  blast  roars  at  her  in  the  chimney,  and  fitful 
showers  rush  suddenly  against  the  window. 

Yet  there  was  a  time  when  Rose  Grafton  —  such  was 
the  pretty  maiden  name  of  Nurse  Toothaker  —  pos- 
sessed beauty  that  would  have  gladdened  this  dim  and 
dismal  chamber  as  with  sunshine.  It  won  for  her  the 
heart  of  Edward  Fane,  who  has  since  made  so  great  a 
figure  in  the  world,  and  is  now  a  grand  old  gentleman, 
with  powdered  hair,  and  as  gouty  as  a  lord.  These  early 
lovers  thought  to  have  walked  hand  in  hand  through  life. 
They  had  wept  together  for  Edward's  little  sister  Mary, 
whom  Rose  tended  in  her  sickness,  partly  because  she 
was  the  sweetest  child  that  ever  lived  or  died,  but  more 
for  love  of  him.  She  was  but  three  years  old;  Being 
such  an  infant,  Death  could  not  embody  his  terrors  in  her 
little  corpse  ;  nor  did  Rose  fear  to  touch  the  dead  child's 
brow,  though  chill,  as  she  curled  the  silken  hair  around 
it,  nor  to  take  her  tiny  hand,  and  clasp  a  flower  within 
its  fingers.  Afterward,  when  she  looked  through  the 
pane  of  glass  in  the  coffin-lid,  and  beheld  Mary's  face,  it 
seemed  not  so  much  like  death,  or  life,  as  like  a  wax- 
work, wrought  into  the  perfect  image  of  a  child  asleep, 
and  dreaming  of  its  mother's  smile.  Rose  thought  her 
too  fair  a  thing  to  be  hidden  in  the  grave,  and  wondered 
that  an  angel  did  not  snatch  up  little  Mary's  coffin,  and 
bear  the  slumbering  babe  to  heaven,  and  bid  her  wake 
immortal.  But  when  the  sods  were  laid  on  little  Mary, 
the  heart  of  Rose  was  troubled.  She  shuddered  at  the 
fantasy,  that,  in  grasping  the  child's  cold  fingers,  her 
virgin  hand  had  exchanged  a  first  greeting  with  mor- 


EDWARD    FANE'S    ROSEBUD.  251 

iality,  and  could  never  lose  the  earthly  taint.  How 
many  a  greeting  since !  But  as  yet,  she  was  a  fair 
young  girl,  with  the  dewdrops  of  fresh  feeling  in  her 
bosom  ;  and  instead  of  Rose,  which  seemed  too  mature 
a  name  for  her  half-opened  beauty,  her  lover  called  her 
Rosebud. 

The  rosebud  was  destined  never  to  bloom  for  Edward 
Pane.  His  mother  was  a  rich  and  haughty  dame,  with 
all  the  aristocratic  prejudices  of  colonial  times.  She 
scorned  Rose  Grafton's  humble  parentage,  and  caused 
her  son  to  break  his  faith,  though,  had  she  let  him 
choose,  he  would  have  prized  his  Rosebud  above  the 
richest  diamond.  The  lovers  parted,  and  have  seldom 
met  again.  Both  may  have  visited  the  same  mansions, 
but  not  at  the  same  time;  for  one  was  bidden  to  the 
festal  hall,  and  the  other  to  the  sick-chamber;  he  was 
the  guest  of  Pleasure  and  Prosperity,  and  she  of  Anguish. 
Rose,  after  their  separation,  was  long  secluded  within  the 
dwelling  of  Mr.  Toothaker,  whom  she  married  with  the 
revengeful  hope  of  breaking  her  false  lover's  heart.  She 
went  to  her  bridegroom's  arms,  with  bitterer  tears,  they 
say,  than  young  girls  ought  to  shed  at  the  threshold  of 
the  bridal  chamber.  Yet,  though  her  husband's  head 
was  getting  gray,  and  his  heart  had  been  chilled  with  an 
autumnal  frost,  Rose  soon  began  to  love  him,  and  won- 
dered at  her  own  conjugal  affection.  He  was  all  she  had 
to  love ;  there  were  no  children. 

In  a  year  or  two,  poor  Mr.  Toothaker  was  visited 
with  a  wearisome  infirmity  which  settled  in  his  joints, 
and  made  him  weaker  than  a  child.  He  crept  forth 
about  his  business,  and  came  home  at  dinner-time  and 
eventide,  not  with  the  manly  tread  that  gladdens  a 
wife's  heart,  but  slowly,  feebly,  jotting  down  each  dull 
footstep  with  a  melancholy  dub  of  his  staff.  We  must 


252  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

pardon  his  pretty  wife,  if  she  sometimes  blushed  to  own 
him.  Her  visitors,  when  they  heard  him  coming,  looked 
for  the  appearance  of  some  old,  old  man ;  but  he  dragged 
his  nerveless  limbs  into  the  parlor, —  and  there  'was  Mr. 
Toothaker  !  The  disease  increasing,  he  never  went  into 
the  sunshine,  save  with  a  staff  in  his  right  hand  and  his 
left  on  his  wife's  shoulder,  bearing  heavily  downward, 
like  a  dead  man's  hand.  Thus,  a  slender  woman,  still 
looking  maiden-like,  she  supported  his  tall,  broad-chested 
frame  along  the  pathway  of  their  little  garden,  and 
plucked  the  roses  for  her  gray-haired  husband,  and  spoke 
soothingly,  as  to  an  infant.  His  mind  was  palsied  with 
his  body ;  its  utmost  energy  was  peevishness.  In  a  few 
months  more,  she  helped  him  up  the  staircase,  with  a 
pause  at  every  step,  and  a  longer  one  upon  the  landing- 
place,  and  a  heavy  glance  behind,  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  of  his  chamber.  He  knew,  poor  man,  that  the 
precincts  of  those  four  walls  would  thenceforth  be  his 
world,  —  his  world,  his  home,  his  tomb,  —  at  once  a 
dwelling  and  a  burial-place,  till  he  were  borne  to  a  darker 
and  a  narrower  one.  But  Rose  was  with  him  in  the 
tomb.  He  leaned  upon  her,  in  his  daily  passage  from 
the  bed  to  the  chair  by  the  fireside,  and  back  again  from 
the  weary  chair  to  the  joyless  bed,—  his  bed  and  hers,  — 
their  marriage-bed ;  till  even  this  short  journey  ceased, 
and  his  head  lay  all  day  upon  the  pillow,  and  hers  all 
night  beside  it.  How  long  poor  Mr.  Toothaker  was 
kept  in  misery !  Death  seemed  to  draw  near  the  door, 
and  often  to  Lift  the  latch,  and  sometimes  to  thrust  his 
ugly  skull  into  the  chamber,  nodding  to  Rose,  and  point- 
ing at  her  husband,  but  still  delayed  to  enter.  "  This 
bedridden  wretch  cannot  escape  me  !  "  quoth  Death.  "  I 
will  go  forth,  and  run  a  race  with  the  swift,  and  fight  a 
battle  with  the  strong,  and  come  back  for  Toothaker  at 


EDWARD    FANE'S    ROSEBUD.  253 

my  leisure  !"  0,  when  Ihe  deliverer  came  so  near  in  the 
dull  anguish  of  her  worn-out  sympathies,  did  she  never 
long  to  cry,  "  Death,  come  in  !  " 

But,  no  !  We  have  no  right  to  ascribe  such  a  wish  to 
our  friend  Rose.  She  never  failed  in  a  wife's  duty  to 
her  poor  sick  husband.  She  murmured  not,  though  a 
glimpse  of  the  sunny  sky  was  as  strange  to  her  as  him, 
nor  answered  peevishly,  though  his  complaining  accents 
roused  her  from  her  sweetest  dream,  only  to  share  his 
wretchedness.  He  knew  her  faith,  yet  nourished  a  can- 
kered jealousy;  and  when  the  slow  disease  had  chilled 
all  his  heart,  save  one  lukewarm  spot,  which  Death's 
frozen  lingers  were  searching  for,  his  last  words  were, 
"  What  would  my  Rose  have  done  for  her  first  love,  if  she 
has  been  so  true  and  kind  to  a  sick  old  man  like  me !  " 
And  then  his  poor  soul  crept  away,  and  left  the  body 
lifeless,  though  hardly  more  so  than  for  years  before,  and 
Rose  a  widow,  though  in  truth  it  was  the  wedding-night 
that  widowed  her.  She  felt  glad,  it  must  be  owned, 
when  Mr.  Toothaker  was  buried,  because  his  corpse  had 
retained  such  a  likeness  to  the  man  half  alive,  that  she 
hearkened  for  the  sad  murmur  of  his  voice,  bidding  her 
shift  his  pillow.  But  all  through  the  next  winter,  though 
the  grave  had  held  him  many  a  month,  she  fancied  him 
calling  from  that  cold  bed,  "  Rose !  Rose !  come  put  a 
blanket  on  my  feet !  " 

So  now  the  Rosebud  was  the  Widow  Toothaker.  Her 
troubles  had  come  early,  and,  tedious  as  they  seemed, 
had  passed  before  all  her  bloom  was  fled.  She  was  still 
fair  enough  to  captivate  a  bachelor,  or,  with  a  widow's 
cheerful  gravity,  she  might  have  won  a  widower,  stealing 
into  his  heart  in  the  very  guise  of  his  dead  wife.  But 
the  Widow  Toothaker  had  no  such  projects.  By  her 
watchiiigs  and  continual  cares,  her  heart  had  become  knit 


254  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

to  her  first  husband  with  a  constancy  which  changed  its 
very  nature,  and  made  her  love  him  for  his  infirmi- 
ties, and  infirmity  for  his  sake.  When  the  palsied  old 
man  was  gone,  even  her  early  lover  could  not  have  sup- 
plied his  place.  She  had  dwelt  in  a  sick-chamber,  and 
been  the  companion  of  a  half-dead  wretch,  till  she  could 
scarcely  breathe  in  a  free  air,  and  felt  ill  at  ease  with  the 
healthy  and  the  happy.  She  missed  the  fragrance  of  the 
doctor's  stuif.  She  walked  the  chamber  with  a  noise- 
less footfall.  If  visitors  came  in,  she  spoke  in  soft  and 
soothing  accents,  and  was  startled  and  shocked  by  their 
loud  voices.  Often  in  the  lonesome  evening,  she  looked 
timorously  from  the  fireside  to  the  bed,  with  almost  a 
hope  of  recognizing  a  ghastly  face  upon  the  pillow. 
Then  went  her  thoughts  sadly  to  her  husband's  grave. 
If  one  impatient  throb  had  wronged  him  in  his  lifetime, 
—  if  she  had  secretly  repined,  because  her  buoyant  youth 
was  imprisoned  with  his  torpid  age,  —  if  ever,  while 
slumbering  beside  him,  a  treacherous  dream  had  admitted 
another  into  her  heart,  —  yet  the  sick  man  had  been  pre- 
paring a  revenge,  which  the  dead  now  claimed.  On  his 
painful  pillow,  he  had  cast  a  spell  around  her ;  his  groans 
and  misery  had  proved  more  captivating  charms  than 
gayety  and  youthful  grace ;  in  his  semblance,  Disease 
itself  had  won  the  Rosebud  for  a  bride ;  nor  could  his 
death  dissolve  the  nuptials.  By  that  indissoluble  bond 
she  had  gained  a  home  in  every  sick-chamber,  and  no- 
where else  ;  there  were  her  brethren  and  sisters ;  thither 
her  husband  summoned  her,  with  that  voice  which  had 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  grave  of  Toothaker.  At  length 
she  recognized  her  destiny. 

We  have  beheld  her  as  the  maid,  the  wife,  the  widow ; 
now  we  see  her  in  a  separate  and  insulated  character;, 
she  was,  in  all  her  attributes,  Nurse  Toothaker.  And 


EDWARD    FANE'S    ROSEBUD.  255 

Nurse  Toothaker  alone,  with  her  own  shrivelled  lips, 
could  make  known  her  experience  in  that  capacity. 
What  a  history  might  she  record  of  the  great  sicknesses, 
in  which  she  has  gone  hand  in  hand  with  the  exterminat- 
ing angel !  She  remembers  when  the  small-pox  hoisted 
a  red  banner  on  almost  eve,ry  house  along  the  street.  She 
lias  witnessed  when  the  typhus  fever  swept  off  a  whole 
household,  young  and  old,  all  but  a  lonely  mother,  who 
vainly  shrieked  to  follow  her  last  loved  one.  Where 
would  be  Death's  triumph,  if  none  lived  to  weep  ?  She 
can  speak  of  strange  maladies  that  have  broken  out,  as 
if  spontaneously,  but  were  found  to  have  been  imported 
from  foreign  lands,  with  rich  silks  and  other  merchandise, 
the  costliest  portion  of  the  cargo.  And  'once,  she  recol- 
lects, the  people  died  of  what  was  considered  a  new  pes- 
tilence, till  the  doctors  traced  it  to  the  ancient  grave  of 
a  young  girl,  who  thus  caused  many  deaths  a  hundred 
years  after  her  own  burial.  Strange  that  such  black  mis- 
chief should  lurk  in  a  maiden's  grave  !  She  loves  to  tell 
how  strong  men  fight  with  fiery  fevers,  utterly  refusing  to 
give  up  their  breath  ;  and  how  consumptive  virgins  fade 
out  of  the  world,  scarcely  reluctant,  as  if  their  lovers 
were  wooing  them  to  a  far  country.  Tell  us,  thou  fear- 
ful woman !  tell  us  the  death-secrets !  Eain  would  I 
search  out  the  meaning  of  words,  faintly  gasped  with 
intermingled  sobs,  and  broken  sentences,  half  audibly 
spoken  between  earth  and  the  judgment-seat ! 

An  awful  woman  !  She  is  the  patron  saint  of  young 
physicians,  and  the  bosom  friend  of  old  ones.  In  the 
mansions  where  she  enters,  the  inmates  provide  them- 
selves black  garments;  the  coffin-maker  follows  her; 
and  the  bell  tolls  as  she  comes  away  from  the  threshold. 
Death  himself  lias  met  her  at  so  many  a  bedside,  that 
he  puts  forth  his  bony  hand  to  greet  Nurse  Toothaker. 


256  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

She  is  an  awful  woman!  And,  O,  is  it  conceivable, 
that  this  handmaid  of  human  infirmity  and  affliction  — 
so  darkly  stained,  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  all  that 
is  saddest  in  the  doom  of  mortals  —  can  ever  again  be 
bright  and  gladsome,  even  though  bathed  in  the  sun- 
shine of  eternity  ?  By  her  long  communion  with  woe, 
has  she  not  forfeited  her  inheritance  of  immortal  joy? 
Does  any  germ  of  bliss  survive  within  her? 

Hark !  an  eager  knocking  at  Nurse  Toothaker's  door. 
She  starts  from  her  drowsy  revery,  sets  aside  the  empty 
tumbler  and  teaspoon,  and  lights  a  lamp  at  the  dim  em- 
bers of  the  fire.  Rap,  rap,  rap  !  again ;  and  she  hurries 
adown  the  staircase,  wondering  which  of  her  friends  can 
be  at  death's  door  now,  since  there  is  such  an  earnest 
messenger  at  Nurse  Toothaker's.  Again  the  peal  re- 
sounds, just  as  her  hand  is  on  the  lock.  "Be  quick, 
Nurse  Toothaker !  "  cries  a  man  on  the  doorstep ;  "  old 
General  Fane  is  taken  with  the  gout  in  his  stomach,  and 
has  sent  for  you  to  watch  by  his  death-bed.  Make  haste, 
for  there  is  no  time  to  lose !  "  "  Fane !  Edward  Fane  ! 
And  has  he  sent  for  me  at  last  ?  I  am  ready  !  I  will 
get  on  my  cloak  and  begone.  So,"  adds  the  sable-gowned, 
ashen- visaged,  funereal  old  figure,  "  Edward  Fane  remem- 
bers his  Rosebud ! " 

Our  question  is  answered.  There  is  a  germ  of  bliss 
within  her.  Her  long-hoarded  constancy  —  her  memory 
of  the  bliss  that  was  —  remaining  amid  the  gloom  of  her 
after  life,  like  a  sweet-smelling  flower  in  a  coffin,  is  a 
symbol  that  all  may  be  renewed.  In  some  happier  clime, 
the  Rosebud  may  revive  again  with  all  the  dewdrops  in 
its  bosom. 


THE  THREEFOLD  DESTINY. 

A  FAIRY  LEGEND. 

HAVE  sometimes  produced  a  singular  and  not 
unpleasing  effect,  so  far  as  my  own  mind  was 
concerned,  by  imagining  a  train  of  incidents, 
in  which  the  spirit  and  mechanism  of  the  fairy  legend 
should  be  combined  with  the  characters  and  manners  of 
familiar  life.  In  the  little  tale  which  follows,  a  subdued 
tinge  of  the  wild  and  wonderful  is  thrown  over  a  sketch 
of  New  England  personages  and  scenery,  yet,  it  is  hoped, 
without  entirely  obliterating  the  sober  hues  of  nature, 
llather  than  a  story  of  events  claiming  to  be  real,  it 
may  be  considered  as  an  allegory,  such  as  the  writers 
of  the  last  century  would  have  expressed  in  the  shape 
of  an  Eastern  tale,  but  to  which  I  have  endeavored  to 
give  a  more  life-like  warmth  than  could  be  infused  into 
those  fanciful  productions. 

In  the  twilight  of  a  summer  eve,  a  tall,  dark  figure, 
>\(T  which  long  and  remote  travel  had  thrown  an  out- 
landish aspect,  was  entering  a  village,  not  in  "Fairy 
Londe,"  but  within  our  own  familiar  boundaries.  The 
staff,  on  which  this  traveller  leaned,  had  been  his  com- 
panion from  the  spot  where  it  grew,  in  the  jungles  of 
Hindostan  ;  the  hat,  that  overshadowed  his  sombre  brow, 
had  shielded  him  from  the  suns  of  Spain  ;  but  his  cheek 

Q 


£58  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

had  been  blackened  by  the  red-hot  wind  of  an  Arabian 
desert,  and  had  felt  the  frozen  breath  of  an  Arctic  region. 
Long  sojourning  amid  wild  and  dangerous  men,  he  stiL 
wore  beneath  his  vest  the  ataghan  which  he  had  once 
struck  into  the  throat  of  a  Turkish  robber.  In  every 
foreign  clime  he  had  lost  something  of  his  New  England 
characteristics ;  and,  perhaps,  from  every  people  he  had 
unconsciously  borrowed  a  new  peculiarity ;  so  that  when 
the  world-wanderer  again  trod  the  street  of  his  native 
village,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  passed  unrecognized, 
though  exciting  the  gaze  and  curiosity  of  all.  Yet,  as 
his  arm  casually  touched  that  of  a  young  woman,  who 
was  wending  her  way  to  an  evening  lecture,  she  started, 
and  almost  uttered  a  cry. 

"Ralph  Cranfield  !  "  was  the  name  that  she  half  artic- 
ulated. 

"  Can  that  be  my  old  playmate,  Faith  Egerton  ? " 
thought  the  traveller,  looking  round  at  her  figure,  but 
without  pausing. 

Ralph  Craufield,  from  his  youth  upward,  had  felt 
himself  marked  out  for  a  high  destiny.  He  had  im- 
bibed the  idea  —  we  say  not  whether  it  were  revealed 
to  him  by  witchcraft,  or  in  a  dream  of  prophecy,  or  that 
his  brooding  fancy  had  palmed  its  own  dictates  upon 
him  as  the  oracles  of  a  Sibyl  —  but  he  had  imbibed 
the  idea,  and  held  it  firmest  among  his  articles  of  faith, 
(hat  three  marvellous  events  of  his  life  were  to  be  con- 
firmed to  him  by  three  signs. 

The  first  of  these  three  fatalities,  and  perhaps  the 
one  on  which  his  youthful  imagination  had  dwelt  most 
fondly,  was  the  discovery  of  the  maid,  who  alone,  of 
all  the  maids  on  earth,  could  make  him  happy  by  her 
love.  He  was  to  roam  around  the  world  till  he  should 
meet  a  beautiful  woman,  wearing  on  her  bosom  a  jewel 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  259 

in  the  shape  of  a  heart ;  whether  of  pearl,  or  ruby,  or 
emerald,  or  carbuncle,  or  a  changeful  opal,  or  perhaps 
a  priceless  diamond,  Ralph  Cranfield  little  cared,  so 
long  as  it  were  a  heart  of  one  peculiar  shape.  On 
encountering  this  lovely  stranger,  he  was  bound  to  ad- 
dress her  thus :  "  Maiden,  I  have  brought  you  a  heavy 
heart.  May  I  rest  its  weight  on  you  ?  "  And  if  she 
were  his  fated  bride,  —  if  their  kindred  souls  were  des- 
tined to  form  a  union  here  below,  which  all  eternity 
should  only  bind  more  closely,  —  she  would  reply,  with 
her  finger  on  the  heart-shaped  jewel,  "This  token,  which 
I  have  worn  so  long,  is  the  assurance  that  you  may !  " 

And,  secondly,  Ralph  Cranfield  had  a  firm  belief  that 
there  was  a  mighty  treasure  hidden  somewhere  in  the 
earth,  of  which  the  burial-place  would  be  revealed  to 
none  but  him.  When  his  feet  should  press  upon  the 
mysterious  spot,  there  would  be  a  hand  before  him, 
pointing  downward,  — •  whether  carved  of  marble,  or 
hewn  in  gigantic  dimensions  on  the  side  of  a  rocky 
precipice,  or  perchance  a  hand  of  flame  in  empty  air,  he 
could  not  tell ;  but,  at  least,  he  would  discern  a  hand, 
the  forefinger  pointing  downward,  and  beneath  it  the 
Latin  word  Erf  ODE,  —  Dig  !  And  digging  thereabouts, 
the  gold  in  coin  or  ingots,  the  precious  stones,  or  of 
whatever  else  the  treasure  might  consist,  would  be  cer- 
tain to  reward  his  toil. 

The  third  and  last  of  the  miraculous  events  in  the  life 
of  this  high-destined  man  was  to  be  the  attainment  of 
extensive  influence  and  sway  over  his  fellow-creatiires. 
Whether  he  were  to  be  a  king,  and  founder  of  an  hered- 
itary throne,  or  the  victorious  leader  of  a  people  con- 
tending for  their  freedom,  or  the  apostle  of  a  purified 
and  regenerated  faith,  was  left  for  futurity  to  show.  As 
messengers  of  the  sign,  by  which  Ralph  Cranfield  might 


260  TWICE-TOLD   TALES. 

recognize  the  summons,,  three  venerable  men  were  to 
claim  audience  of  him.  The  chief  among  them,  a  digni- 
fied and  majestic  person,  arrayed,  it  may  be  supposed,  in 
the  flowing  garments  of  an  ancient  sage,  would  be  the 
bearer  of  a  wand,  or  prophet's  rod.  With  this  wand,  or 
rod,  or  staff,  the  venerable  sage  would  trace  a  certain 
figure  in  the  air,  and  then  proceed  to  make  known  his 
heaveu-instruoted  message ;  which,  if  obeyed,  must  lead 
to  glorious  results. 

With  this  proud  fate  before  him,  in  the  flush  of  his 
imaginative  youth,  Ralph  Cranfield  had  set  forth  to  seek 
the  maid,  the  treasure,  and  the  venerable  sage,  with  his 
gift  of  extended  empire.  And  had  he  found  them  ?  Alas  ! 
it  was  not  with  the  aspect  of  a  triumphant  man,  who  had 
achieved  a  nobler  destiny  than  all  his  fellows,  but  rather 
with  the  gloom  of  one  struggling  against  peculiar  and 
continual  adversity,  that  he  now  passed  homeward  to  his 
mother's  cottage.  He  had  come  back,  but  only  for  a 
time,  to  lay  aside  the  pilgrim's  staff',  trusting  that  his 
weary  manhood  would  regain  somewhat  of  the  elasticity 
of  youth,  in  the  spot  where  his  threefold  fate  had  been 
foreshown  him.  There  had  been  few  changes  in  the 
village;  for  it  was  not  one  of  those  thriving  places  where 
a  year's  prosperity  makes  more  than  the  havoc  of  a 
century's  decay ;  but  like  a  gray  hair  in  a  young  man's 
head,  an  antiquated  little  town,  full  of  old  maids,  and 
aged  elms,  and  moss-grown  dwellings.  Pew  seemed  to 
be  the  changes  here.  The  drooping  elms,  indeed,  had 
a  more  majestic  spread;  the  weather-blackened  houses 
were  adorned  with  a  denser  thatch  of  verdant  moss ;  and 
doubtless  there  were  a  few  more  gravestones  in  the 
burial-ground,  inscribed  with  names  that  had  once  been 
familiar  in  the  village  street.  Yet,  summing  up  all  the 
mischief  that  ten  years  had  wrought,  it  seemed  scarcely 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  261 

more  than  if  Ralph  Cranfield  had  gone  forth  that  very 
morning,  and  dreamed  a  daydream  till  the  twilight,  and 
then  turned  back  again.  But  his  heart  grew  cold,  be- 
cause the  village  did  not  remember  him  as  he  remembered 
the  village. 

"  Here  is'  the  change !  "  sighed  he,  striking  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  "  Who  is  this  man  of  thought  and  care, 
weary  with  world-wandering,  and  heavy  with  disappointed 
hopes  ?  The  youth  returns  not,  who  went  forth  so  joy- 
ously !  " 

And  now  Ralph  Cranfield  was  at  his  mother's  gate,  in 
front  of  the  small  house  where  the  old  lady,  with  slender 
but  sufficient  means,  had  kept  herself  comfortable  during 
her  son's  long  absence.  Admitting  himself  within  the 
enclosure,  he  leaned  against  a  great,  old  tree,  trifling 
with  his  own  impatience,  as  people  often  do  in  those 
intervals  when  years  are  summed  into  a  moment.  He 
took  a  minute  survey  of  the  dwelling,  —  its  windows, 
brightened  with  the  sky-gleam,  its  doorway,  with  the 
half  of  a  mill-stone  for  a  step,  and  the  faintly  traced  path 
waving  thence  to  the  gate.  He  made  friends  again  with 
his  childhood's  friend,  the  old  tree  against  which  he 
leaned;  and  glancing  his  eye  adown  its  trunk,  beheld 
something  that  excited  a  melancholy  smile.  It  was  a 
half-obliterated  inscription  —  the  Latin  word  EFFODE  — 
which  he  remembered  to  have  carved  in  the  bark  of  the 
tree,  with  a  whole  day's  toil,  when  he  had  first  begun  to 
muse  about  his  exalted  destiny.  It  might  be  accounted  ' 
a  rather  singular  coincidence,  that  the  bark,  just  above 
the  inscription,  had  put  forth  an  excrescence,  shaped  not 
unlike  a  hand,  with  the  forefinger  pointing  obliquely  at 
the  word  of  fate.  Such,  at  least,  was  its  appearance  iu 
the  dusky  light. 

"  Now  a  credulous  man,"  said  Ralph  Craufield  care- 


262  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

lessly  to  himself,  "  might  suppose  that  the  treasure  -which. 
I  have  sought  round  the  world  lies  buried,  after  all,  at 
the  very  door  of  my  mother's  dwelling.  That  would  be 
a  jest  indeed  !  " 

More  he  thought  not  about  the  matter ;  for  now  the 
door  was  opened,  and  an  elderly  woman  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  peering  into  the  dusk  to  discover  who  it  might 
be  that  had  intruded  on  her  premises,  and  was  standing- 
in  the  shadow  of  her  tree.  It  was  Ralph  Cranfield's 
mother.  Pass  we  over  their  greeting,  and  leave  the  one 
to  her  joy  and  the  other  to  his  rest,  —  if  quiet  rest  be 
found. 

But  when  morning  broke,  he  arose  with  a  troubled 
brow ;  for  his  sleep  and  his  wakefulness  had  alike  been 
full  of  dreams.  All  the  fervor  was  rekindled  with  which 
he  had  burned  of  yore  to  unravel  the  threefold  mystery 
of  his  fate.  The  crowd  of  his  early  visions  seemed  to 
have  awaited  him  beneath  his  mother's  roof,  and  thronged 
riotously  around  to  welcome  his  return.  In  the  well- 
remembered  chamber  —  on  the  pillow  where  his  infancy 
had  slumbered  —  he  had  passed  a  wilder  night  than  ever 
in  an  Arab  tent,  or  when  he  had  reposed  his  head  in  the 
ghastly  shades  of  a  haunted  forest.  A  shadowy  maid 
liad  stolen  to  Ms  bedside,  and  laid  her  finger  on  the 
scintillating  heart ;  a  hand  of  flame  had  glowed  amid 
tlie  darkness,  pointing  downward  to  a  mystery  within  the 
earth;  a  hoary  sage  had  waved  his  prophetic  wand,  and 
beckoned  the  dreamer  onward  to  a  chair  of  state.  The 
same  phantoms,  though  fainter  in  the  daylight,  still  flitted 
about  the  cottage,  and  mingled  among  the  crowd  of  famil- 
iar faces  that  were  drawn  thither  by  the  news  of  Ralph 
Cranfield's  return,  to  bid  him  welcome  for  his  mother's 
sake.  There  they  found  him,  a  tall,  dark,  stately  man, 
of  foreign  aspect,  courteous  in  demeanor  and  mild  oi 


THE   THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  263 

speed),  yet  with  an  abstracted  eye,  which  seemed  often 
to  snatch  a  glance  at  the  invisible. 

Meantime  the  Widow  Cranfield  went  bustling  about 
the  house  full  of  joy  that  she  again  "had  somebody  to 
love,  and  be  careful  of,  and  for  whom  she  might  vex  and 
tease  herself  with  the  petty  troubles  of  daily  life.  It  was 
nearly  noon,  when  she  looked  forth  from  the  door,  and 
descried  three  personages  of  note  coming  along  the  street, 
through  the  hot  sunshine  and  the  masses  of  elm -tree 
shade.  At  length  they  reached  her  gate,  and  undid  the 
latch. 

"  See,  Ralph !  "  exclaimed  she,  with  maternal  pride, 
"here  is  Squire  Hawkwood  and  the  two  other  select- 
men coming  on  purpose  to  see  you !  Now  do  tell  them 
a  good  long  story  about  what  you  have  seen  in  foreign 
parts." 

The  foremost  of  the  three  visitors,  Squire  Hawkwood, 
was  a  very  pompous,  but  excellent  old  gentleman,  the 
head  and  prime  mover  in  all  the  affairs  of  the  village, 
and  universally  acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  sagest 
men  on  earth.  He  wore,  according  to  a  fashion,  even, 
then  becoming  antiquated,  a  three-cornered  hat,  and 
carried  a  silver-headed  cane,  the  use  of  which  seemed  to 
be  rather  for  nourishing  in  the  air  than  for  assisting  the 
progress  of  his  legs.  His  two  companions  were  elderly 
and  respectable  yeomen,  who,  retaining  an  ante-revolu- 
i  ionary  reverence  for  rank  and  hereditary  wealth,  kept  a 
little  in  the  Squire's  rear.  As  they  approached  along  t  he 
pathway,  Ralph  Cranfield  sat  in  an  oaken  elbow-chair, 
half  unconsciously  gazing  at  the  three  visitors,  and  en- 
veloping their  homely  figures  in  the  misty  romance  that 
pervaded  his  mental  world. 

"  Here,"  thought  he,  smiling  at  the  conceit,  —  "here 
come  three  elderly  personages,  and  the  first  of  the  three 


264  TWICE-TOLD  .TALES. 

is  a  venerable  sago  with  a  staff.  What  if  this  embassy 
should  bring  me  the  message  of  my  fate  !  " 

While  Squire  Hawkwood  and  his  colleagues  entered, 
Ralph  rose  from  iiis  seat,  and  advanced  a  few  steps  to 
receive  them  ;  and  his  stately  figure  and  dark  counte- 
nance, as  he  bent  courteously  towards  his  guests,  had  a 
natural  dignity,  contrasting  well  with  the  bustling  im- 
portance of  the  Squire.  The  old  gentleman,  according  to 
invariable  custom,  gave  an  elaborate  preliminary  flourish 
with  his-cane  in  the  air,  then  removed  his  three-cornered 
hat  in  order  to  wipe  his  brow,  and  finally  proceeded  to 
make  known  his  errand. 

"  My  colleagues  and  myself,"  began  the  Squire,  "  are 
burdened  with  momentous  duties,  being  jointly  select- 
men of  this  village.  Our  minds,  for  the  space  of  three 
days  past,  have  been  laboriously  bent  on  the  selection  of 
a  suitable  person  to  fill  a  most  important  office,  and  take 
upon  himself  a  charge  and  rule,  which,  wisely  considered, 
may  be  ranked  no  lower  than  those  of  kings  and  poten- 
tates. And  whereas  you,  our  native  townsman,  are  of 
good  natural  intellect,  and  well  cultivated  by  foreign 
travel,  and  that  certain  vagaries  and  fantasies  of  your 
youth  are  doubtless  long  ago  corrected ;  taking  all  these 
matters,  I  say,  into  due  consideration,  we  are  of  opinion 
that  Providence  hath  sent  you  hither,  at  this  juncture, 
for  our  very  purpose." 

During  this  harangue,  Cranfield  gazed  fixedly  at  the 
speaker,  as  if  he  beheld  something  mysterious  and  un- 
earthly in  his  pompous  little  figure,  and  as  if  the  Squire 
had  worn  the  flowing  robes  of  an  ancient  sage,  instead  of 
a  square-skirted  coat,  flapped  waistcoat,  velvet  breeches, 
and  silk  stockings.  Nor  was  his  wonder  without  suffi- 
cient cause  ;  for  the  flourish  of  the  Squire's  staff,  marvel- 
lous to  relate,  had  described  precisely  the  signal  in  the 


THE    THREEFOLD    DESTINY.  265 

air  which  was  to  ratify  the  message  of  the  prophetic 
Sage,  whom  Cranfield  had  sought  around  the  world. 

"  And  what,"  inquired  Ralph  Crunfield,  with  a  tremor 
in  his  voice,  —  "  what  may  this  office  be,  which  is  to  equal 
me  with  kings  and  potentates  ?  " 

"  No  less  than  instructor  of  our  village  school,"  an- 
swered Squire  Hawkwood ;  "  the  office  being  now  vacant 
by  the  death  of  the  venerable  Master  Whitaker,  after  a 
fifty  years'  incumbency." 

"  I  will  consider  of  your  proposal,"  replied  Ralph 
Cranfield,  hurriedly,  "  and  will  make  known  my  decision 
within  three  days." 

After  a  few  more  words,  the  village  dignitary  and  his 
companions  took  their  leave.  But  to  Craufield's  fancy 
their  images  were  still  present,  and  became  more  and 
more  invested  with  the  dim  awfuluess  of  figures  which 
had  first  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  and  afterwards  had 
shown  themselves  in  his  waking  moments,  assuming 
homely  aspects  among  familiar  things.  His  mind  dwelt 
upon  the  features  of  the  Squire,  till  they  grew  confused 
with  those  of  the  visionary  Sage,  and  one  appeared  but  the 
shadow  of  the  other.  The  same  visage,  he  now  thought, 
had  looked  forth  upon  him  from  the  Pyramid  of  Cheops ; 
the  same  form  had  beckoned  to  him  among  the  colonnades 
of  the  Alhambra;  the  same  figure  had  mistily  revealed 
itself  through  the  ascending  steam  of  the  Great  Geyser. 
At  every  effort  of  his  memory  he  recognized  some  trait 
of  the  dreamy  Messenger  of  Destiny,  in  this  pompous, 
bustling,  self-important,  little  great  man  of  the  village. 
Amid  such  musings  Ralph  Cranfield  sat  all  day  in  the 
cottage,  scarcely  hearing  and  vaguely  answering  his 
mother's  thousand  questions  about  his  travels  and  ad- 
ventures. At  sunset  he  roused  himself  to  take  a  stroll, 
-and,  passing  the  aged  elm-tree,  his  eye  was  again  caught 

VOL.  II.  12 


266  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

by  the  semblance  of  a  hand,  pointing  downward  at  the 
half-obliterated  inscription. 

As  Cranlield  walked  down  the  street  of  the  village, 
the  level  sunbeams  threw  his  shadow  far  before  him ;  and 
he  fancied  that,  as  his  shadow  walked  among  distant  ob- 
jects, so  had  there  been  a  presentiment  stalking  in  ad- 
vance of  him  throughout  his  life.  And  when  he  drew 
near  each  object,  over  which  his  tall  shadow  had  preceded 
him,  still  it  proved  to  be  one  of  the  familiar  recollections 
of  his  infancy  and  youth.  Every  crook  in  the  pathway 
was  remembered.  Even  the  more  transitory  character- 
istics of  the  scene  were  the  same  as  in  bygone  days.  A 
company  of  cows  were  grazing  on  the  grassy  roadside,  and 
refreshed  him  with  their  fragrant  breath.  "  It  is  sweeter," 
thought  he,  "  than  the  perfume  which  was  wafted  to  our 
ship  from  the  Spice  Islands."  The  round  little  figure  of 
a  child  rolled  from  a  doorway,  and  lay  laughing  almost 
beneath  Cranfield's  feet.  The  dark  and  stately  man 
stooped  down,  and,  lifting  the  infant,  restored  him  to  his 
mother's  arms.  "  The  children,"  said  he  to  himself, 
and  sighed,  and  smiled,  —  "  the  children  are  to  be  my 
charge  ! "  And  while  a  flow  of  natural  feeling  gushed 
like  a  wellspring  in  his  heart,  he  came  to  a  dwelling 
which  he  could  nowise  forbear  to  enter.  A  sweet  voice, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  a  deep  and  tender  soul,  was 
warbling  a  plaintive  little  air,  within. 

He  bent  his  head,  and  passed  through  the  lowly  door. 
As  his  foot  sounded  upon  the  threshold,  a  young  woman 
advanced  from  the  dusky  interior  of  the  house,  at  first 
hastily,  and  then  with  a  more  uncertain  step,  till  they 
met  face  to  face.  There  was  a  singular  contrast  in  their 
two  figures ;  he  dark  and  picturesque,  —  one  who  had 
battled  with  the  world,  —  whom  all  suns  had  shone  upon, 
and  whom  all  winds  had  blown  on  a  varied  course ;  she 


THE   THREEFOLD   DESTINY.  267 

neat,  comely,  and  quiet,  —  quiet  even  in  her  agitation,  — 
as  if  all  her  emotions  had  been  subdued  to  the  peaceful 
tenor  of  her  life.  Yet  their  faces,  all  unlike  as  they  were, 
had  an  expression  that  seemed  not  so  alien,  —  a  glow 
of  kindred  feeling,  flashing  upward  anew  from  half-extin- 
guished embers. 

"  You  are  welcome  home  !  "  said  Faith  Egerton. 

But  Cranfield  did  not  immediately  answer ;  for  his  eye 
had  been  caught  by  an  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  Heart . 
which  Faith  wore  as  a  brooch  upon  her  bosom.  The 
material  was  the  ordinary  white  quartz ;  and  he  recol- 
lected having  himself  shaped  it  out  of  one  of  those  Indian 
arrowheads,  which  are  so  often  found  in  the  ancient  haunts 
of  the  red  men.  It  was  precisely  on  the  pattern  of  that 
worn  by  the  visionary  Maid.  When  Cranfield  departed 
on  his  shadowy  search  he  had  bestowed  this  brooch,  in  a 
gold  setting,  as  a  parting  gift  to  Faith  Egerton. 

"  So,  Faith,  you  have  kept  the  Heart ! "  said  he,  at 
length. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  blushing  deeply;  then  more  gayly, 
"  and  what  else  have  you  brought  me  from  beyond  the 
sea  ?  " 

"  Faith ! "  replied  Ralph  Cranfield,  uttering  the  fated 
words  by  an  uncontrollable  impulse,  "  I  have  brought 
you  nothing  but  a  heavy  heart !  May  I  rest  its  weight 
on  you  ?  " 

"  This  token,  which  I  have  worn  so  long,"  said  Faith, 
laying  her  tremulous  finger  on  the  Heart,  "  is  the  assur- 
ance that  you  may  i  " 

"  Faith  !  Faith  !  "  cried  Craufield,  clasping  her  in  his 
arms,  "  you  have  interpreted  my  wild  and  weary  dream  !  " 

Yes,  the  wild  dreamer  was  awake  at  last.  To  find  the 
mysterious  treasure,  he  was  to  till  the  earth  around  his 
mother's  dwelling,  and  reap  its  products  !  Instead  of 


268  TWICE-TOLD    TALES. 

warlike  command,  or  regal  or  religious  sway,  he  was  to 
rule  over  the  village  children !  And  now  the  visionary 
Maid  had  faded  from  his  fancy,  and  in  her  place  he  saw 
the  playmate  of  his  childhood  !  Would  all,  who  cherish 
such  wild  wishes,  but  look  around  them,  they  would  often- 
est  find  their  sphere  of  duty,  of  prosperity,  and  happiness 
within  those  precincts,  and  in  that  station  where  Provi- 
dence itself  has  cast  their  lot.  Happy  they  who  read  the 
riddle,  without  a  weary  world-search,  or  a  lifetime  spent 


«oofcs  of  f  ictton 


Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

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